


Scrubland

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Camboy Jesse, Dick slapping, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male Solo, Mutual Masturbation, Trauma, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “Hey y’all, welcome back.  For those of you who are new ‘round here, I’m Jesse.”Jesse takes a slow drag off the cigarette in his fingers before reaching over to stub it out, lean muscles of his abdomen flexing and shifting, and Gabriel hates that he can’t look away.He’s watched a fair number of camboys get off for tokens, but none of them pull him back in the way Jesse does.Jesse is shirtless, dressed in nothing but a pair of worn jeans held up by an obnoxious belt buckle, and a ragged cowboy hat.  There’s more grease streaked across his chest, and a smattering of bruises on his throat that look suspiciously like fingerprints.  The knuckles of his right hand are busted; freshly skinned, not even scabbed over yet. Hurt himself working on his bike, most likely, and Gabriel hates that, too— knowing this random trailer park fuckboy has a motorcycle.  That he smokes too much, and drinks shitty beer. That he can’t afford a decent pair of underwear, apparently. Jesse piggybacks off of his neighbor’s wifi to stream once a week, though, and the last few weeks Gabriel has found himself here, watching.





	1. Grease

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [gnome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnomeicecream/pseuds/gnomeicecream) for the beta.
> 
> //side eyes discord
> 
> Y'all know what you did.

The image is static for a moment, black and white fuzz crackling before the screen finally flashes to life.  It’s a close-up of someone’s face as he tries to adjust the angle of his laptop; tanned skin, a scruffy beard, and what looks like grease smeared high across one cheekbone.  A septum ring glints in his nose, silver, catching the light. He licks over his teeth as he struggles with something off camera, forearms framing the shot on either side, making the image wobble before it evens out.  There’s a distorted noise, like he’s dragging something over the microphone without meaning to, rustling and robotic.

 

He finally settles back with a sheepish grin, teeth bright white and gleaming, and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

 

“Hey y’all, welcome back.  For those of you who are new ‘round here, I’m Jesse.”

 

Jesse takes a slow drag off the cigarette in his fingers before reaching over to stub it out, lean muscles of his abdomen flexing and shifting, and Gabriel hates that he can’t look away.

 

He’s watched a fair number of camboys get off for tokens, but none of them pull him back in the way Jesse does.

 

Jesse is shirtless, dressed in nothing but a pair of worn jeans held up by an obnoxious belt buckle, and a ragged cowboy hat.  There’s more grease streaked across his chest, and a smattering of bruises on his throat that look suspiciously like fingerprints.  The knuckles of his right hand are busted; freshly skinned, not even scabbed over yet. Hurt himself working on his bike, most likely, and Gabriel hates that, too— knowing this random trailer park fuckboy has a motorcycle.  That he smokes too much, and drinks shitty beer. That he can’t afford a decent pair of underwear, apparently. Jesse piggybacks off of his neighbor’s wifi to stream once a week, though, and the last few weeks Gabriel has found himself here, watching.

 

“Jackie, you coming?” Gabe calls, and gets a muffled response he can’t really make out from the kitchen.  Jack talking around a mouthful of food, probably, and Gabriel shakes his head, and glances back down at the screen.

 

The room behind Jesse is just as much of a mess as he is, if not more.  There’s a blanket tacked unevenly over the window, sagging at the top to reveal tinfoil taped to the glass behind it.  A shelf high on one wall is stacked three deep with empty beer bottles, and Gabe doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be some kind of collection, or if Jesse simply can’t be bothered to throw them away.  

 

Dirty clothes are heaped all over the floor; jeans with the knees torn out, stained wife-beaters, stray bandanas.  The sheets have come off one corner of his bed, and the mattress has a spring sticking out of it, foam erupting all around the metal.  There’s a lamp shaped like a horse on the bedside table, rearing up, one of its front legs broken off. The light fixture overhead has a lone bulb humming dimly, the other three burned out and blackened, illuminating the room in an unflattering yellow glow.

 

It’s such a far cry from the other users on the site that it gave Gabe whiplash when he first stumbled across Jesse’s videos.  Most of the camboys shoot their streams from carefully sterile bedrooms. Some of them are draped in fairy lights, twinks on soft pastel sheets teasing themselves for the camera, all sultry eyes and fake whimpering.  Others look more like dorm rooms, college boys in jockstraps and baseball caps preening like their ill-defined six packs and barely there biceps are something worth showing off. 

 

Then there is Jesse in his rundown hovel, shitty classic rock playing somewhere far away in the background, an ancient air conditioner rattling loud in his window.  This isn’t some carefully crafted persona, an act that Jesse puts on to make some cash. Gabe would be willing to bet money that Jesse is this guy’s actual name, which is absurd.  It shouldn’t be endearing.

 

_ Jesse  _ shouldn’t be endearing, he’s ridiculous, but Gabriel still watches, caught up in the details.  It is all so real it makes Gabriel’s chest hurt a little, and he startles when Jack sits down beside him, still holding half a piece of pizza as he looks at the screen of Gabe’s laptop.

 

“Jesus christ, look at that mess.  Did it not occur to him that maybe he should clean his fucking room before jerking off for the masses?” Jack says, and Gabriel huffs out a laugh, and shrugs.

 

“It’s always like that.  But fuck, look at him.” 

 

Jack obliges him, finishing his pizza with his eyes on the display.

 

Jesse is playing with his nipples with his left hand; toying with the rings in them, some poorly inked tattoo obvious on his forearm, his other hand clicking away at his computer.  He grins at something in the chat, though Gabriel can’t tell what, exactly; all he can see are a few fairly degrading insults and horrific requests. Jesse bites his lip and arches suggestively, palming at his cock, his size obvious even through the fabric of his jeans.

 

“Mmmm.  Is that a goddamn mullet?  Please say it’s not. Please tell me you aren’t freely choosing to jack off watching someone with a mullet grope their dick.”

 

“I think he just needs a haircut,” Gabe replies, and Jack hums, and palms Gabriel’s cock through his sweatpants.  He’s half-hard in spite of their conversation, more in anticipation of what Jesse will get up to than anything he’s doing on screen right then.

 

“He needs a shower, is what is he needs.”

 

“Two, yeah, and some disinfectant besides.  Is this doing it for you, dragging this kid’s life choices?”  Gabe asks, pawing at Jack in return.

 

“Maybe a little,” Jack answers wryly, even though Gabriel knows better, and he taps the volume up higher so they can hear.

 

“All right, gimmie some suggestions.  We hit ten thousand tokens and I’ll get started,” Jesse says, and Jack nods at the keyboard.

 

“Tell him to do his fucking laundry,” Jack says, and Gabe snorts but ignores him.  “How old is this kid, Gabriel? He looks… young, shit.”

 

“Legal, at least, if he’s on here,” Gabriel says, but he doesn’t sound overly convinced.

 

Jack types something in the chat and presses send before Gabriel can stop him,  _ how old are you?   _ It takes Jesse a moment to notice as he scans through the lines of text, dismissing some, considering others.  He rubs a palm down his chest absently, fingertips dipping under his oversized belt buckle, the letters ‘BAMF’ glaring in the lamplight.  Jesse scratches through the trail of dark hair on his abdomen. Nothing thick, but enough that Gabriel would like to swallow his cock; bury his nose there, and just breathe.

 

“Now, I done told y’all I ain’t got any toys.  You know how expensive those things are? Give me some better tips ‘n maybe I can afford to spend a hundred bucks ordering some weird dildo yeah?”  

 

He hums as he scrolls down further, sifting through the bullshit to find actual suggestions.  He’s touching himself all the while, rubbing at his dick through his jeans, dragging his hand across his nipples, rolling his hips distractedly.  Gabriel hasn’t stopped palming at Jack’s cock through his boxers, and he’s fully hard now, watching keenly instead of talking shit. 

 

“I’m not opposed to pissing myself but, I  _ am  _ opposed to doing it for five dollars, you fuckin’ pervert.  You throw enough tips my way and we’ll talk. And shut the fuck up, I will clean when I damn well please, I don’t recall askin’ your opinion on the matter.  How old…,” Jesse laughs out loud, head thrown back and eyes closed, more beautiful than he has any right to be all things considered. Gabe catches a glimpse of the stud in his tongue and grinds into Jack’s hand instinctively as Jesse shoots the webcam a look, grinning wide and amused.  

 

“How old am I? What are you, my daddy?”  Jesse rocks his hips forward, cock hard and outlined clearly in his jeans as he gropes it harshly, one hand reaching up to adjust his hat.  “I’m old enough, darlin’, don’t you worry your little head about it, alright?”

 

Gabriel shoves his shoulder into Jack’s with a smirk, and Jack clicks a button with his free hand to give Jesse a few thousand tokens— it’s only fifty bucks or so, nothing they’ll miss, but it puts him well over his goal.  An alert beeps, letting Jesse know he’s passed ten thousand tokens, and he tips his hat at the camera.

 

“That’s more like it, baby.  You just relax. Sit back and enjoy yourself.”

 

Jesse runs both hands down his chest, pausing to thumb roughly at his nipples  before reaching to unbuckle his belt. Biting his fucking lip again as he works it free, and Gabriel and Jack share a helpless sort of look, sliding their hands into one another’s clothes, seeking skin on skin.  Gabriel takes Jack’s cock in his hand, jolting at the sensation as Jack returns the favor, both of them stroking slow. Jack’s working left handed, but it’s still miles better than doing it himself, and Gabriel doesn’t mind.

 

Jesse’s zipper is already open, and his fly parts as he shimmies his jeans down his thighs a little, revealing the same pair of worn out briefs he always has on during his streams.  There’s a hole clearly visible on one hip, and the thought that it’s his  _ good  _ underwear is troubling enough to have Gabriel tipping him another fifty bucks.  A soft laugh sounds from the speakers, Jesse eyeing his screen with smirk.

 

“I was gonna say five thousand tokens until I lose the briefs, but seems somebody’s eager today,” Jesse says, winking at the camera as he eases the waistband of his underwear down and pulls his cock free, tucking the elastic under his balls.

 

Jack whistles long and low, grinding up into Gabriel’s fist, his rhythm faltering on Gabe’s cock.

 

_ “Goddamn,”  _ he mutters, thighs tensing under Gabriel’s forearm, hips rolling of their own volition.  Gabe can’t blame him.

 

Jesse’s dick is a thing of beauty.  Big enough that his own fingers barely close around it, uncut and intimidatingly long and Gabriel’s mouth waters just looking at it.  Thinking about the way his lips would stretch if he got his mouth on it, how Jesse’s muscles would twitch and jump under his hands as he worked him tirelessly.

 

Gabriel doubts anyone has taken care of this boy like he deserves; not with the handprints perpetually wrapped around his neck and the black eye he wears on occasion, ribs just a little too prominent, eyes going hazy and unfocused sometimes.  An expression Gabriel recognizes from both Jack and his mirror— someone who’s seen things better left unseen, and it should look out of place on someone so young, but it doesn’t.

 

Jesse wears it just under his skin, that special kind of misery, tucked away and ignored but always there.  

 

Gabe would like to scrub him clean, and lay him out on the cool, soft sheets of their king size bed.  Let Jack kiss him until he’s dazed and drunk underneath them while Gabriel gently mouths bruises into the inside of his thighs.  Suck him off until he’s coming dry, shaking with it. Bury his face in Jesse’s ass and eat him until he’s begging to be fucked.

 

Gabriel would like to show Jesse what he’s missing, but he doesn’t know him from Adam, and all he can do right now is throw money at him once a week and hope for the best.

 

Jack watches Jesse stroke himself on screen, Jack’s tongue darting out over his lips, cock pulsing in Gabriel’s hand.  Liking what he sees, Gabe grins, leaning over to press a sucking kiss to Jack’s shoulder. The angle is awkward, but it’s worth it for the way Jack shoves into his mouth, head tilted to give him room.

 

“Be nice to sit on, yeah?  Think you could take it all, or is he too big?” Gabe lilts, and Jack tosses his left leg over Gabriel’s right knee, thighs thrown wide as he makes an indignant noise.

 

“‘Too big’ is quitter talk,” Jack replies, sticking two of his fingers into his mouth for moment before slipping his hand through the right leg of his boxers.  Gabriel watches the fabric move, watches Jack’s wrist twisting as he opens his legs further. He lets out a soft whine, lashes fluttering, and Gabriel groans under his breath.

 

He doesn’t need to see to know that Jack is shoving his fingers into himself with a negative amount of grace.  Artless, and hurried; chasing that sore, impatient stretch he’s always after, and Gabriel strokes him faster, left hand dropping down to cup his own sac.  He glances back at the screen in time to see Jesse let go of his cock, lifting his hand up to lick a messy stripe across his palm before taking himself in hand again.

 

Jack makes a punched out noise and shivers.

 

“Ugh, that’s hot.  Why is that so hot, his hand is filthy.  He probably just gave himself fucking tetanus and I still want climb him like a goddamn tree,” Jack says, rocking into Gabriel’s fist with increased urgency.

 

“We can get him all his shots if you want, make sure he doesn’t have mange,” Gabriel teases, and Jack huffs out a breathy sound.

 

“Shut… shut up, you’re distracting, shut the fuck up,” he hisses.  

 

“You started it,” Gabe replies with a laugh, squeezing his cock harder, running his thumb in wet circles over Jack’s crown and watching him shudder.  Jack’s close, eyes locked on the laptop, boxers shifting and moving as he fucks himself hard and fast.

 

Jesse is moving faster too, tugging on his nipple rings, spine arching.  He’s talking incessantly, drawling out filth that Gabriel has a hard time focusing on; something about needing someone to bend him over take him rough.  It would be predictable, except that it comes off genuine, like Jesse really does want to be manhandled and mounted. The chat is alight with volunteers, and Gabriel’s mind is filling in the gaps for him.  

 

Telling him how good Jesse would look on his hands and knees in their bed, ass in the air, pleading for it.  How nice he’d feel in Gabriel’s lap, lean and desperate and writhing, taking everything Gabriel gave him and then some.

 

Just when it seems like Jesse is about to come he lets go of himself, drawing his hand back and giving his cock a vicious slap.  Both to stave off his orgasm, and for the rush of tips he always gets in response, bells chiming as they roll in alongside lewd encouragement from his viewers.  Gabriel has seen him do it before, but Jack hasn’t, and he goes tense at the sight. His hand goes still on Gabriel’s cock and he jerks, and moans, and comes over Gabe’s fingers in bursts.  

 

“Oh, that’s what does it for you, then?  Want me to slap your dick around?” Gabriel asks, voice breathier than he’d like, more earnest than teasing.

 

“Fucking… maybe, yeah,” Jack says, still shivering through the last twitches of his climax.  

 

After a few moments Jack withdraws his fingers, shoving Gabriel’s hand away from his dick.  Oversensitive, and Gabriel obliges him, but wipes Jack’s come off on the fabric of his boxers first.  Jack makes a noise through his teeth, letting go of Gabriel’s dick entirely to punch him in the arm.

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Absolutely, yeah,” Gabriel says, sinking his come-sticky fingers into Jack’s messy hair and easing his head down into his lap.

 

Jack goes without resisting, pinching Gabriel’s hip once in protest but swallowing his cock all the same.  Gabriel grunts, shoving forward into Jack’s mouth; not quite choking him, but it’s a close thing, and he earns himself a slap on the thigh before settling back against the couch.  He watches Jack’s head bob, scratching through his hair as he sucks Gabriel’s cock with messy enthusiasm. It doesn’t matter that he’s already come. Jack would fall asleep like that if Gabe let him, cock on his tongue, eyes lidded and drunk with it.

 

When Gabriel looks at the screen again Jesse is leaning back, one hand roughly fondling his sac, the other stroking his cock with a frantic kind of desperation.  He’s breathing heavily, sweat shining on his chest, muscles flexing as he curls into himself. Gabriel guides Jack into a more punishing rhythm with the hand in his hair, and Jack moans, and lets him.  Jesse swears under his breath, and Gabriel’s toes curl against the rug beneath him, rutting up into Jack’s mouth far enough that he’s nudging the back of his throat with every stroke.

 

“Yeah, darlin’, yeah, just like that.” Jesse  locks up with a groan, mouth falling open as he comes.

 

With the way his spine is bowing, and how he’s holding his cock as he furiously works himself through it, it’s no surprise he ends up coming all over himself.  On his cheek, a few drops hitting his lips, the rest landing in wet stripes across his chest and belly. Jesse smears his palm through the mess, rubbing it in filthy circles, tips chiming one after the other in his chat window.  He keeps stroking for a minute, twitching and shivery, before looking up at the camera with a smile.

 

Jesse winks, drowsy and sated, and Gabriel is glad that Jack’s not watching the stream right then, because that’s what finally does it.

 

He comes down Jack’s throat without warning, holding him in place on his cock, and Jack moans.  Swallows, and swallows, clinging to Gabriel’s thighs, making whimpery little sounds. Jesse’s come is everywhere— on his hands and his chest and his stomach, catching the light as he shamelessly massages it into his skin.  His voice is quieter now, his accent more pronounced. He thanks everyone for watching and gives a well-rehearsed spiel about subscribing and streaming times before biting his bottom lip and tipping his hat as he signs off.

 

Gabriel lets go of his grip on Jack’s hair, petting over it instead of pulling now, a wordless apology.  Jack sits up eventually, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and nodding toward the screen.

 

“Tip that kid a couple hundred bucks, maybe he’ll buy some shampoo,” Jack says, climbing off the couch and wandering out of the room without another word.  Back into the kitchen, and Gabriel can see him standing in front of the fridge his come-stained boxers, eating cold pizza out of the box on the counter.

 

“You’re just as gross as he is,” Gabriel calls, and Jack smiles sarcastically around a mouthful of pepperoni, and then vanishes around the corner.

 

Gabe picks the laptop up, tapping a few keys to send Jesse a tip that’s bordering on obscene, along with a message.

 

_ Take care of yourself, pretty boy. _

 

He closes his computer and leaves it on the coffee table, heading into the kitchen to pry a slice of pizza out of Jack’s clutches before he demolishes the rest.

 

It’s too late.  The pizza is gone, and Gabriel sighs, because he signed up for this, and it’s no more than he deserves.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Shine

Jesse stretches in his seat, the chair creaking underneath him as he settles, brushing strands of damp hair out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ears.  His laptop whirrs ominously, just like it always does when he turns the webcam on and gets ready to stream; Jesse bites his lip every time, waiting for the day it gives out on him entirely.  There are already people in the chat waiting; a couple dozen regulars, some lurkers who’ll get kicked once the free portion of the feed is over, a few new faces. Still, Jesse hesitates.

 

He’s a little nervous, this time.

 

It’s only been a few months since he decided to try camming for some extra cash, and it’s worked out better than he anticipated, even if it was a bit of a rocky start.  He had to open a bank account before he could even register on a site, which was an entire ordeal— turned out buying a fake ID was easier than digging up his birth certificate and getting a real one.  Once he’d gotten started those first few awkward weeks of streaming were more disheartening than anything else. Hardly anyone wants to watch someone get off alone in a dark room without a fancy setup or toys or gimmicks.

 

If Jesse could afford any of that he wouldn’t need to cam in the first place.

 

It gets easier after a while— Jesse’s never gonna make the kind of cash these boys with thousand dollar cameras and elaborate lighting pull, but people start coming back every week to watch him.  He doesn’t know exactly what sort of demographic he’s drawing; appealing to some niche interest he’d rather not dwell on for too long, probably. It’s all the same to him. His regulars are a bunch of assholes, for the most part, but they tip well enough, and tell him nice things from time to time.

 

The praise is scant, and rare, often obscene, but it still lights him up like nothing else, and Jesse doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

 

How some stranger a thousand miles away telling him he has a nice mouth is powerful enough to rattle him.

 

He’s not getting rich, but even after the cut the website takes, it helps.  Spending all day at the shop underneath an endless procession of Deadlock bikes is less stressful when he doesn’t have to beg a ride home with someone.

 

The last couple of times had involved a few detours—  the hot metal panels of a trailer cutting into his back, dirty fingers curled around his throat, a fist landing heavy on his face.  Jesse, breathless and choking, world gone spotty and black at the edges.

 

The walk home is long, and miserably hot, but Jesse will take it over the alternative.

 

Will walk miles and miles under the baking sun, dizzy and dehydrated; it’s a small price to pay to hold onto those pieces of himself.

 

All that he has left of them.  The desert has a way of taking without giving back, eating away at things until they’re unrecognizable.

 

Eating away at Jesse until  _ he’s  _ unrecognizable, someone else entirely looking back at him in the mirror. 

 

But Jesse doesn’t have to walk, anymore.  His bike is running again, even if it still needs work before he’s happy with it; there’s gas in the tank, and cigarettes in his pocket, all thanks to a handful of creeps who like watching him jerk off on the internet.  

 

It’s flattering.  Jesse’s never been embarrassed about it.   He signs in, says hello, and turns on the charm— it comes easy.  Always has, always will. He’s been bullshitting his way out of trouble all his life, and getting away with things is simpler with a teasing grin and a soft laugh.

 

Jesse smiles, and winks, and talks dirty— he’s never thought twice about his accent, but all these boys dropping tokens on him seem to enjoy it.  He gets himself off, and it’s good. Better than good. Jesse likes being watched, likes the idea that someone relishes it enough that they’re willing to pay him for the privilege.  Those few seconds shaking through his orgasm for strangers are the best part of the week, bells chiming as tips pour in, encouragement filling up the chat log. Then he signs off, and there’s two hundred bucks or so in his account, which is more than he has leftover from his checks after he pays his part of the rent and bills on the ramshackle trailer he shares with three other low-level Deadlocks.

 

These past few weeks have been different.

 

One of Jesse’s viewers has taken a shine to him.

 

‘Jackoffgabe’ is quiet in the chat.  They never ask Jesse for anything specific.

 

They throw more tokens at Jesse than the rest of his patrons combined, and that’s not even taking into account the tip he got last week.  Almost a thousand dollars, and Jesse had withdrawn it from the ATM in the middle of the night, terrified someone had made a mistake and would try and take it back somehow.  It was only after he returned home that he saw the message tacked on, a bright red notification in his inbox.

 

_ Take care of yourself, pretty boy. _

 

He likes being called that.  Most of the compliments he gets on the site are a lot less gentle, a lot less soft, but as for taking care of himself...

 

Jesse doesn’t even know what that  _ means. _

 

He buys some clothes— jeans without holes in them, shirts that aren’t grease stained, boots that cost so much that it physically hurts Jesse to fork over the cash.  He treats himself to dinner and a twelve pack of some expensive beer, and then stashes the rest of the money away so he can get new tires for his bike.

 

Now Jesse sits in front of his rickety desk, freshly showered and dressed in a pristine red flannel; unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of brand new jeans on, cowboy hat askew atop his head.  The light on his webcam flashes, and Jesse stares at it, trying to work up the nerve to get started. He’s never worried too much about holding any particular viewer’s interest, but this new guy?

 

Jesse would like to keep him around.  Doesn’t know how he managed to impress him in the first place, and nerves twist through his guts at the thought.  If he does the wrong thing, says the wrong thing, he’ll go back to getting off for a couple hundred dollars every week instead of twice that, or more.  It’s a depressing notion but the people in the chat are getting restless, and if he waits too long to get started, Riggs and the rest of the guys might get home before he finishes. 

 

If there’s anything Jesse knows how to do it’s act like everything’s okay when it isn’t, so he clicks the button to activate the feed, grinning and lifting his hat off his head in greeting.

 

“Hey y’all, welcome back, and for those of you who’re new around here, I’m Jesse.”

 

The chat is full of commentary, a mixed bag as usual; half insulting, half suggestive.  He’s never bothered to shower before his shows before, usually coming in oil-stained and sweaty, and there are several smart-ass remarks about how they didn’t think he had running water, or owned soap.  A few seem disappointed, asking what the point is if he’s not filthy as fuck; Jesse ignores them. They talk shit, but they still pay, and he’s heard worse things about himself. 

 

Hell, he’s heard worse things about himself  _ today. _

 

It wouldn’t be Deadlock if someone wasn’t flinging a wrench his way and calling him a useless piece of shit, after all.

 

Then Jesse’s eyes catch on one comment in particular, and his smile goes shy and genuine.

 

**jackoffgabe:** you clean up nice, cowboy

 

Jesse looks up at the camera, speaking directly into it and trying to ignore the way his cheeks feel like they’re flushed bright.

 

“Now one of you guys— ‘n you know who you are— has been mighty generous these past few weeks.  I appreciate it, and I ain’t sure what I did that you took a likin’ to, but if you wanna let me know I’ll damn well keep on doing it.”

 

It takes a few seconds, but then a response pops up in the chat, scrolling by quickly before it’s lost in the din.

 

**jackoffgabe:** you just do you, pretty boy

 

Jesse blushes hotter, and bites his lip; people tell him he’s sexy almost every week, but this is different.  Being complimented by someone who apparently doesn’t think twice about tipping him hundreds of dollars settles strangely in him.  Makes him flustered and overwhelmed, but it’s a simple enough request.

 

_ You just do you,  _ so Jesse grins, and sucks his teeth, and does.

 

He gets himself off much the same as always.  There’s only so much he can do without toys, or a partner, but this time he strips his jeans and briefs off and crawls on the bed.  Jesse spreads his legs wide for the camera and fingers himself— he’s never done it during a stream before, but he figures his new donor deserves a little something extra, and the rest of his viewers are nothing if not enthusiastic.  His tips are higher than usual, though not by a whole lot.

 

At least not until one comes through towards the end of his show, notification popping up in the corner of his screen.  A private donation just like the last one, something no one else in the chat will see.

 

_ JACKOFFGABE > $800 _

 

It’s thrilling, and when he comes it hits hard, leaving him breathless and fucked out and exhausted.  He smiles blearily at the camera, and signs off with a wink after giving his normal spiel about subscribing and streaming hours.  Normally Jesse would log off now and be done with it. Wipe the come off his chest with one of the balled up shirts in his floor, drink a couple of beers, and sleep as much as he could before his roommates woke him up yelling at each other.

 

Tonight he sends a message to jackoffgabe instead, hoping they haven’t already logged off.  He should probably leave it alone, but Jesse’s made over two grand off this one viewer in the last three weeks, and Jesse...

 

He’s never been good at leaving well enough alone.

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** hey there stranger

**rideacowboyrt66:** u got any requests u let me know, I’d be happy to oblige

 

There’s a few agonizingly long moments of silence before three little dots appear on the screen, growing and shrinking as they type their reply.

 

**jackoffgabe:** You got a wishlist?  PO box where I can send you something?

 

Jesse doesn’t have either of those things.  He’s noticed that a lot of other users on the site do, but Jesse’s never had that big of a following, and it seemed like a waste of time to set all that up for nothing.  He taps out a response, fingers slower on the keys than he’d like, trying to shake the hair out his eyes.

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** I don’t, but I can fix that real quick if you want me to

 

**jackoffgabe:** Set up a wishlist somewhere and link me.  Get a PO box and give me the address, along with what size clothes you wear, and I’ll send you some stuff.  Alright?

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** yessir

**rideacowboyrt66:** still ain’t told me what I can do for u, tho

 

**jackoffgabe:** This is what you can do for me.  Take care of yourself. Let me take care of you.

 

_ Let me take care of you. _

 

Like Jesse is some kind of charity case, and it should be offensive, but it isn’t.  Jesse just feels warm, and pleased.

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** I’ll send you the info later on then?

 

**jackoffgabe:** Yup.

 

Jesse can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound awkward or stupid, so he smashes out a winky face and signs off before they can answer.  He spends longer than he should putting together a wishlist online, full of things he likes but can’t make himself spend money on, and then sleeps like the dead.  

 

It’s two more days before he can get to the post office during business hours and get a box there.  When he finally signs back on to send the info through, there’s a message waiting for him.

 

**jackoffgabe:** Goodnight, Jesse.

 

It’s enough to have him smiling.

 

-

 

Less than a week.

 

It’s been less than a week, and Jesse feels like an idiot for checking his mail so soon, but the urge has been nagging at him and it’s easier to go see that there’s nothing there than to ignore the temptation any longer.  The office in town is ancient and rundown, none of the fancy fingerprint tech or keycard systems most post offices have installed. Jesse takes his little brass key, and opens his box, and freezes.

 

There’s a padded envelope there, about the size of a sheet of paper, along with a key on a numbered ring.  Jesse stares into the box for a moment before pulling it all out, using the key to open a corresponding box on the other side of the room.  There are four packages inside, two of them smallish, soft plastic envelopes stuffed with what feels like fabric. The other packages are boxes, one large enough that Jesse is worried it might not fit in his saddlebags.  It does, with some finessing, and he shoves everything else into his backpack and speeds home like he’s running from the law.

 

Jesse locks his door, and spreads everything out on his bed.  Inside the larger box is a bottle of cologne and a shaving kit full of expensive looking razors and cream and aftershave.  There’s also toiletries— shampoo and conditioner, body wash, deodorant. Lotion, chapstick, facial soap.

 

Jesse hasn’t used soap made specifically for his face in his entire life.  

 

He doesn’t recognize any of the brands, and Jesse wonders if he should be offended by the obvious implication that he needs a shower and a shave, but then he sniffs the body wash and decides against it.

 

A quick Google search tells him the cologne costs at least four hundred dollars all by itself, and Jesse swears low before sifting through the rest.

 

There are three graphic t-shirts, all of which are unashamedly cowboy themed and procured from his wishlist, ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy!’ being both the most obvious and Jesse’s personal favorite.  There are socks and underwear; nothing he picked out, none of it particularly sexy in any way that suggests his viewer might want to see him in them. Practical, not provocative.

 

The smaller of the boxes opens to reveal a black silicone anal plug, and Jesse grins.  For someone who pays to watch him jack off all the gifts have been incredibly mundane, and he’s a little relieved to see something he can use for his stream.  

 

A little relieved to see something that reminds him  _ why  _ he’s getting all this stuff to begin with; something to tamper down all this warm fondness he can’t seem to quell.

 

The plug looks simple at first glance, but reading the package reveals a number of features, wirelessly controlled vibrations most notably; his grin widens at the possibilities.

 

Jesse opens the envelope last, unsure of what it could be, only to stop short.

 

There are a dozen gift cards inside— for restaurants in the area, grocery stores, an auto parts chain.  A reloadable Visa with a picture of a horse on it, and there are no amounts written on any of them, but Jesse knows without checking that it’s probably staggering.  It would be a lot of money even if they only had twenty or thirty bucks each, but someone who bought a camboy four hundred dollar cologne didn’t load a gift card with twenty dollars. 

 

It’s only in that moment that he realizes he’s gotten himself a sugar daddy without even trying.

 

Jesse stares at everything, the whole of his mattress taken up with bottles and bubble wrap and clothes, and for a moment he can’t breathe.  It’s too much.

 

It’s far, far too much for someone who masturbates online once a week for gas money.  Jesse knows he looks good, and he’s charming, but that’s not enough to justify all this.  

 

Still, it’s not as if he’s going to give it  _ back.   _

 

Jesse puts on a pair of new underwear and one of the shirts they’d bought him, rucking the fabric up high on his chest to reveal his stomach.  He palms his cock, and bites his lip, flexing as he takes a selfie.

 

Sends it to jackoffgabe,  _ thanks, boss, feels like christmas over here. _

 

It’s hours before he gets a message back.

 

_ You’re welcome, pretty boy. _

 

_ Anytime,  _ and Jesse wonders if that’s true.

 

Probably not, but a boy can dream.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things about this absurdly self indulgent thing I've foisted upon you.


	3. Hunger

Jesse isn’t sure how much he’s supposed to be tipping, really.  

 

Fifteen percent feels like an arbitrary number, especially when he’s eating alone; ain’t nobody in Deadlock he much feels like taking to a restaurant, and even if there was, Jesse wouldn’t trust them to keep their mouth shut.  

 

It’s enough trouble hiding all his new shit in his room in case someone decides to poke around in there, not to mention that actually wearing the clothes without anyone noticing is tricky.  His new jeans all look the same, for good reason— everyone assumes it’s the same pair that he’s wearing over and over again, and no one bats an eye at one new pair of jeans he doesn’t seem to ever wash.  Just like Riggs— and everyone else— assumes Jesse stole his new boots from the mall three towns over. Jesse doesn’t correct their assumptions.

 

Explaining away how he has money to eat out every other day of the week would be even harder, so Jesse eats alone at the only half-decent restaurant this side of the gorge, and doesn’t bring home leftovers. He thinks he’s overtipping, maybe, but he’s never really been able to afford more than the bare minimum before, and he knows how it feels to be scraping by from paycheck to paycheck.  The guy who serves him is the same one as last time, and he seems happy to have Jesse in his section. Jesse is happy to be there, too.

 

He’s never eaten this well.

 

It’s not that he grew up starving, exactly, but Jesse’s lived with an edge of hunger in him for as long as he can remember.  Before his mother died there was usually enough to keep Jesse’s stomach from growling, even if it wasn’t always full. Then she was gone, and there were foster homes packed with kids who barely knew each other; social workers telling him they understood what he was going through, how difficult it must be,  _ we’re so sorry for your loss, Jesse. _

 

Jesse wasn’t  _ sorry.   _

 

Jesse was furious.  He hated them; hated himself, hated the world.

 

Then he fell in with Deadlock, and that edge of hunger had grown shaper; had grown teeth of its own, sunk them into Jesse, and never really let go.

 

Now for the first time in his life Jesse has a full stomach, and a wad of cash shoved into his boot.  He doesn’t have to worry about where his next meal is gonna come from, or how he’s gonna afford gas to get home from work; the balances never go down on the handful of gift cards in Jesse’s wallet.  

 

Jesse checks, and checks, and checks.  Someone is refilling them almost as fast as he can use them, topping them off at the end of the day; guilt tries to pool in him, thick and sour, but Jesse shoves it down.  

 

Nobody is making them do it.  Jesse didn’t ask for any of this, and if they want to pay for him to eat steak and potatoes three times a week, that’s their business.  

 

All he can do is put on a good show tomorrow, and hope for the best.

 

He tips his server half the price of his meal, and throws him a wink on the way out.

 

The server smiles, shy and pleased, and Jesse feels ten feet tall.

 

-

 

He’s never used a toy before; never had the money to buy one, or the inclination to risk stealing something he didn’t absolutely need.  

 

Being arrested for shoplifting was bad enough when it was cold medicine or biotic ointment or bandages; he couldn’t imagine going to court and listening to a judge read out a list of things he’d lifted from a sex shop, cops smirking at him, state-appointed attorney he’s never even seen before fighting down a grin.  

 

Now he’s got his laptop whirring, the black plug and lubricant waiting on the bed, nerves rattling in his stomach.

 

He’d only just gotten it a couple of days before his stream last week, and there hadn’t been time to set everything up like he wanted, so he hadn’t bothered; just got himself off as usual, doing his best not to look flustered when jackoffgabe paid him compliments in the chat,  _ looking good, cowboy.   _

 

_ A little spoiling suits you. _

 

And then, just after he’d come, fingers wet and mouth open,  _ there you go. _

 

_ Beautiful. _

 

He’d swallowed down a pitiful noise, caught his breath, and shook the warmth in his cheeks away.

 

Jesse had promised his viewers a surprise for the next stream without telling them what it was, and signed off with a wink.  He spent the last few days chatting back and forth with jackoffgabe; giving him the name of the app he needed to download to control the plug he’d bought remotely, along with all the codes to set it up.  Checking to make sure he’d be watching, that he actually wanted to participate. Jesse had them turn the vibrations on, once, just to make sure everything was working. 

 

It buzzed in his palm, a low level hum building slowly up to something much more intense before cutting off entirely.

 

Heat rolled through him at the thought of having it inside him, someone else controlling it; being at their mercy, but still in the safety of his room.

 

Then he’d told them everything was good to go, and tried not to think about it.

 

Tried, and failed, and now he’s glancing from the plug to his screen and back again.  Counting his breaths, clenching his hands into fists. There’s never been any risk involved with his shows before; he got off, and maybe he got some cash.  Jesse didn’t have anything to lose except maybe some dignity, and most of that had been taken away from him a long time ago.

 

Jesse closes his eyes, and doesn’t think of choking.  Doesn’t think of fists in his hair, tugging sharply. Doesn’t think of fingers shoved into his mouth, prying his jaw wide.

 

He opens his eyes, and takes a breath, and thinks of tonight instead.

 

Making some quick cash flashing his dick at the internet has always been win-win, and Jesse’s never stressed over it too much.  Now, though. 

 

Now there is someone Jesse needs to keep happy.  Someone he doesn’t want to disappoint.

 

Someone who might decide Jesse isn’t worth the effort; it’s only a matter of time.

 

He’s on the winning end of this bargain and he knows it.  Even if this guy doesn’t spend another dime he’s already overpaid.  Jesse isn’t good for a whole lot.

 

Two hands buried in a motor.  A warm body underneath someone.

 

The roar of an ignition, a few seconds of shuddering euphoria, and not much else.  

 

At least this time Jesse’s getting something out of it.

 

At least this time he’s choosing.

 

He breathes in deep once more, lets it out slow, and clicks the button to start his stream.  Jesse glances at the chat log, sees the steady chatter already starting. He keys through the list of users, nerves flaring again when he confirms what he already knows.  

 

His favorite donor is there, waiting.  

 

The laptop is adjusted already, so he lets the connection stabilize, and gives the camera a grin.

 

“Hey y’all, welcome back.  For those of you who are new ‘round here, I’m Jesse.”

 

There is a wave of greetings in the chat, ranging from polite to impatient and obscene; Jesse waits for it to die down some, scanning the users for one in particular.

 

**jackoffgabe:** hey there cowboy

 

Jesse can’t help but smile wider.

 

“Now I usually don’t get too fancy with things here, but I got somethin’ special for you lot tonight.   _ Somebody  _ was nice enough to send me this—” Jesse grabs the plug and holds it up, feeling the heft of it in his palm, “so I thought I’d let you guys watch me use it for the first time.  Never tried any toys before, actually, so we’ll see how this goes. Now, it vibrates,” Jesse says, pausing to flick the vibrations on with the button on the base, letting everyone hear the muffled buzzing for a moment before turning it off again, “but I ain’t gonna be the one doing all that.  If the fella who bought be the plug and has the wireless codes to control it feels inclined, well. That’s up to him, ain’t it?”

 

A quick glance to the chat log reveals a riot of excitement about Jesse fucking himself with a toy, along with another message from his donor, brief and to the point.

 

**jackoffgabe:** ready when you are

 

Jesse doesn’t know that he’s ready, really, but he smirks and settles back against his lumpy pillows in their pristine red cases.  He bought a new comforter a few days ago, vivid crimson cut through with gold; it looks out of place in his room without his other ratty old blankets piled over it, but Jesse feels indulgent now, sprawled out on top of the soft fabric.  

 

His room is still filthy just out of frame, the paint on the wall behind him chipped and scratched, his air conditioner rattling as it struggles against the desert heat.  His new jeans are strewn out in a mound of tattered fabric, his new boots kicked off in the same corner as his old ones, the heels pulled loose with overuse. Everything looks worse in comparison; Jesse’s whole life, tattered and worn thin.

 

He arches atop his blankets and lets his thighs fall wide, palming his cock through the silky red of his briefs.

 

“Let’s get this show on the road then, yeah?”

 

The chime of tokens rolling in all at once is nothing if not agreement, and Jesse laughs softly, and gets to work.  

 

He usually does his best to answer questions and respond to suggestions as the show progresses, but Jesse knows he isn’t enough of a multitasker to manage it gracefully while he’s fucking himself open for the camera, so he doesn’t try too hard.  Just relaxes further into his pillows, rubbing both palms up and down his chest, taking time to play with his nipple rings. His viewers seem to like when he pulls them, and Jesse certainly doesn’t mind, tugging on the metal and listening to the metallic clink of people tipping him.  

 

Jesse falls into the idle motions of teasing automatically, flexing his stomach, rolling his hips.  His cock is hard, leaving a dark patch where he’s leaking into his underwear, fabric wet under his hands when he rubs at it.  He scratches his fingers through the patch of hair low on his abdomen, skirting around the bulge in his briefs to run his hands down the insides of his thighs.  

 

He keeps his eyes on the chat and answers a few questions here and there— no, he’s not a virgin, he’s just never used a toy before now.  No, he’s not seeing anyone, romantically or otherwise. No, he’s never topped anyone, and there is a chorus of disbelief among his viewers at that,  _ what a fucking  _ waste,  _ look at that dick, I’d pay good money to ride you, cowboy. _

 

Jesse grins, broad and unabashed, and reminds them they’re paying good money just to watch.

 

It feels like no time at all has passed before there’s a notification from his laptop telling him he’s hit his first goal.  He checks the clock as he lifts up onto his knees and slowly, slowly, slips the waistband of his briefs down to let his cock bob free.  Tucks the elastic under his balls, stroking himself lazily— it’s been less than ten minutes, and he’s already over a hundred dollars in tips.  

 

Everyone is just as eager for this as he is, evidently.  It usually takes at least twice that amount of time for Jesse to end up naked.  He shimmies his briefs the rest of the way off and tosses them to the side, eyes gone heavy as he tugs at himself a few more times and lounges back against his pillows again.  

 

“Mmmm.  This feels real nice an’ all, but it ain’t what y’all are waiting for, is it?”  

 

Jesse grabs the bottle of lube from the bed next to him, popping the cap and drizzling some over the fingers of his left hand as he repositions himself.  Some awkward trial and error has taught him that he needs to lean back and shove a pillow under his hips if he wants anyone to be able to see what he’s doing down there.  It might be easier to get on his hands and knees with his ass towards the camera and reach behind himself, but Jesse felt bizarrely vulnerable when he tried it, so this will have to do.  

 

He hooks his left elbow under his knee, hitching his other leg as high as he can and reaching down to circle two slick fingers over his hole.  Jesse’s already a little loose from getting himself clean earlier, so they slide in easy; a stretch, but not enough of one to give him pause. He can’t help the sigh he lets out as he relaxes into the sensation, cock throbbing harder against his stomach.  A few pumps of his fingers is all it takes to have him craving more, but he doesn’t need to rush things. Jesse doesn’t want to hurt himself.

 

He’s got three fingers moving wet and messy between his cheeks when he starts to get frustrated with the angle and decides it’s time to move things along.  The plug is probably fat enough to hit his prostate without him twisting his wrist into strange positions, and Jesse is breathless and impatient. 

 

It takes a few seconds to reach for the plug and slick it up with lube, and Jesse glances over at the chat to skim through the comments; people telling him how they’d take good care of him, bend him over and fill him up better than any toy.  Others urging him to hurry up, they don’t have all night, get to it already. Then there’s one from jackoffgabe,  _ let me know if it’s too much,  _ and Jesse licks his lips and smiles.

 

“Do your worst, darlin’,” he says.  Says it, and means it, because they can’t touch Jesse; can’t choke him, can’t bite him, can’t scratch him.

 

Because they can do their worst, and Jesse is still safe from them, all alone in his room a thousand miles away.

 

Jesse nudges the tip of the plug against himself, pressing in just slightly before pulling back.  Coaxes it in bit by bit, getting used to the stretch and then easing it out again. He strokes himself, too, hard-on flagging some as he works the toy further in with every flick of his wrist.  It finally sinks home, the flared bottom holding it snugly in place, wide part of the bulb pressing right where he needs it. Jesse pants, taking hold of the base and twisting just to feel the slide.  

 

“Goddamn,” Jesse mumbles, pausing to look at himself on the screen.  Pink cheeks and tangled hair and wide, black eyes. Wet fingers, lube shining on his ass and thighs.  Ragged, just like everything else of Jesse’s.

 

Worn-down and obscene.

 

Then the plug hums to life, and Jesse arches— jaw falling open, eyes fluttering shut.

 

_ “Goddamn,” _ he says again, hissing this time, breath coming a little faster.  

 

The vibrations hold steady for a while, just a low buzz, but after a few seconds Jesse feels them getting stronger.  A wave rolling higher and higher— Jesse’s thighs shake, fingers dropping from the plug and fisting in the blanket underneath him.  It’s shocking, how powerful it is, the way it  _ feels.   _ He’d turned the plug all the way up before when he first opened it, just to see how strong it was, but pressed up inside of him things are very different.  The intensity is overwhelming, and Jesse’s heels are sliding across the bed as the vibrations peak, toes curled and spine curving. He’s making more noise than he’d like but he can’t seem to stop, orgasm already looming close.

 

Then the vibrations cut off into nothing, and Jesse collapses back onto the bed, catching his breath and throwing the camera a baleful look.

 

“Oh, you  _ bastard,”  _ he says, one corner of his mouth curving up into a grin, palm still moving over his cock.  Chasing his climax, except it seems just out of reach now, the fullness of the plug and the tight grip of his fingers not quite enough.  The chat is difficult to follow from his position, but whichever viewer has tipped the highest is always lit up red, and it isn’t hard to spot their name scrolling up through the log.

 

**jackoffgabe:** don’t worry, pretty boy, we got you

 

Jesse only has a moment to puzzle over the ‘we’ before the vibrations start again.  Another slow, steady build that has Jesse writhing in place and gasping for air, biting out profanities under his breath.  He’s definitely not in frame the way he needs to be, but he can’t manage to give a shit, and from the sound of the tips he’s getting no one really minds.  Jesse gives up on giving everyone a view of his ass entirely and lays on his side, hand working frantically on his cock and hair falling into his eyes. He reaches back with his other hand to grind the plug in deeper as the buzzing peaks again, vision starting to white out.

 

Then the plug goes utterly still in him, and Jesse whines like a wounded animal, and glares at the camera again.

 

“C’mon now, that,” Jesse huffs a sigh and lets his head loll, grabbing the toy by the base and pulling until he can feel the stretch before shoving it back in.  “That ain’t  _ fair.” _

 

Bright red letters, vanishing as quickly as they’d come.

 

**jackoffgabe:** who said anything about fair?

 

Jesse groans, and the plug kicks on, vibrations building much faster this time; maybe they’ll let him come now, he thinks.  Maybe they’re impatient, too.

 

Except they really aren’t.  They coax Jesse to the brink of climax again and again, cutting the plug off right when he’s about to finish with alarming accuracy.  The ebb and flow of the vibrations is just jarring enough to keep him from coming, even jerking himself off with increasing desperation, and after a half-dozen more rounds of teasing Jesse is shuddering all over.

 

He tucks his face partially into the blanket, hips rutting forward and back of their own volition as he thrashes in place.  He doesn’t know when he started begging, precisely, but he can hear it coming out of his mouth; intermittent and breathless,  _ c’mon, now… _

 

_ Please, Gabe. _

 

_ Please. _

 

It might not even be their name, but they know he’s talking to them, and it must be enough.  The plug hums up to its peak and holds there— on, and on, and Jesse is strung tight.

 

Ready to break, and then he’s coming over his fingers, shaking hard enough that he’s worried he might knock his laptop into the floor, leg kicking out wildly.  His ears ring, and his jaw aches. There’s definitely come on his new blanket.

 

All that feels far away in the face of the merciless rush of his orgasm, chest heaving, muscles twitching as the aftershocks fade away.  He blinks at the camera with his tongue sticking in his mouth.

 

“Jesus fucking  _ christ.”   _

 

Jesse takes a moment to reach back and ease the plug out of himself, letting it roll down into the mess he’s made of his comforter.  The chat has slowed down now that he’s finished, most people already signing off. There’s one more row of bright red letters,  _ there you go, just like that. _

 

_ Gorgeous. _

 

When Jesse sits up he gets a head rush, body swaying as dizziness hits him and then fades.  He reaches for his briefs and wipes his hand on the fabric before tossing them into the floor, adjusting the angle on his laptop so that only his face is showing.

 

“That was… something else, goddamn.  Guess I can see what all the fuss is about,” he says, winking drowsily like always.  “Wanna thank you guys for coming, and especially wanna thank the fella who’s been taking real good care of me here lately.  I appreciate it, and I’ll see you guys next week.”

 

Jesse signs off, immediately opening up his DM’s on the cam site and firing off a message to jackoffgabe before he can think better of it, the bliss of his orgasm clinging to him like a second skin, making everything soft.  He taps out his phone number, along with a string of text.

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** you ain’t gotta do nothin with this if you don’t want, but if you’re interested I’d be glad to offer you some uhh

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** lets call it ‘extra content’, from time to time

 

**rideacowboyrt66:** if not no worries, and thank you

 

It would be easier to message them on his phone than his laptop, but more than that he’s curious.  Who is this person, where is he from, what is he like.

 

Why is he bothering with  _ Jesse,  _ of all people?

 

He wants to wait to see if there’s a response, but it feels desperate in a way he’s trying to avoid, so he doesn’t.

 

Jesse tucks the computer away, hiding it under a pile of old clothes on the top shelf of his closet, and cleans up after himself.  He’s tossing the lubricant in the drawer of his night stand when his phone buzzes. A message from an unknown number, and when Jesse taps at the screen, he feels warmth swoop low in his stomach.

 

_ You’re welcome cowboy.  Whatever you need. _

 

There is an unfamiliar feeling coiled in Jesse, gratitude warring with something he can’t put a name to; something heated but fragile.

 

It hurts, just a little.  Jesse isn’t sure he likes it.

 

He hesitates for all of thirty seconds before he sends a picture of himself staring into the camera, licking a drop of come he’d missed off his thumb.  Afterwards he panics— he hadn’t asked if it was okay to send that kind of thing, what if someone is standing over their shoulder? Then his phone buzzes again, letters popping up at the bottom of his screen.

 

_ Delicious. _

 

It’s one word, but it’s more than enough.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


	4. Old Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about what songs I can picture Jesse stripping to, and the short answer is of course, anything you like! But, there are a couple specific tunes I have in mind, and if you feel like giving them a listen, they're [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MjFYHilo6Y) and [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEZ9SHGc-Oo)

He’s not sure how long Jack has been watching him from the doorway by the time he notices him standing there, frowning with his arms crossed.  When Gabriel looks over Jack cocks up an eyebrow accusingly, waiting for an explanation. The efficacy of his glare is significantly reduced by the ugly green boxers he’s wearing, and the way his hair is sticking up in every direction.  Gabe just glances back down at his laptop, holding up his index finger at Jack to stop him from talking.

 

“It’s not work,” he says, and Jack scoffs, which is fair.

 

Gabriel has their work laptop out, along with a tablet, a dozen different windows open between the two.  They aren’t as hands on as they used to be with their jobs— the company runs itself at this point, without a ton of intervention of their part.  Still, they aren’t supposed to bring any of it home anymore, and it definitely looks like a dossier on his screen. 

 

“Oh my mistake.  I thought that was an intel file.”

 

It is, in fact, an intel file.

 

Jack cracks open the beer in his hand with a sigh, sitting down on the couch hard enough that it jostles everything in Gabriel’s lap.  Gabriel keeps his computer from spilling out into the floor, snagging the tablet just as it starts to slide off the couch cushion, and shoots Jack a glare of his own.

 

“That’s very helpful, thanks Jackie.”

 

Jack hums as he takes a drink, leaning closer to Gabriel to look over his shoulder.

 

“Any time.  What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?”  Jack asks, reaching to tap at the laptop, trying to tab over to the first page of the dossier.

 

“Filling out divorce papers,” Gabriel says, slapping his hand away but clicking the tab Jack had been after anyway.

 

There’s a list of information on the left side of the screen, and on the right is a picture of Jesse.  

 

Jesse James McCree, to be exact— age twenty-two, mechanic, known associate of the Deadlock gang and resident of Eastside Trailer and RV Park.

 

The picture is a mug shot.  The program Gabe’s using automatically populates the photos into the dossier where they belong, and if there is one from an arrest, it takes priority.  Jesse has a bloody nose in the image, sneering at the camera, lip curled back a little. Bruises around his throat like always— Gabriel checks the date on the arrest, and finds it’s from two years ago.  Public intoxication; Gabriel can believe it.

 

Flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and pink in his teeth, gore oozing down his chin, he looks every inch of drunk and disorderly.

 

It took less than five minutes to pull Jesse’s information.  The address of his post office box gave Gabriel most of what he needed, and the rest was easy enough to piece together.  Now Gabriel has school records and arrest reports; shoplifting, vandalism, and possession, along with a host of traffic tickets for speeding.  No insurance, expired driver’s license, busted tail lights. There’s a copy of his birth certificate, and the title to his motorcycle, as well as a list of relatives— all deceased, or so distant that he’s probably never met them.  

 

All the same intel Gabriel would have if he was working for a client on a security job.

 

Jesse isn’t a job, and Gabriel probably shouldn’t be digging through his life this way, but once the thought occurred to him he couldn’t let it go.  They’ve been texting back and forth for a few months now, and Gabriel is surprised he managed to hold off this long. 

 

Gabriel is… fond, in a possessive sort of way.  Jesse is genuinely funny; quick-witted and not afraid to drag him if the opportunity arises, even though he’s filling his bank account with stupid amounts of money.  He’s got shit taste in music but excellent taste in movies, if Gabriel doesn’t count all the questionable westerns. 

 

It’s not just an aesthetic, evidently.  Jesse is actually… like that, with the boots and the hats and the belt buckles.  Gabriel teases him about it endlessly.

 

Gabriel sends him a gift card to a country western store near him, and tells him to go nuts.

 

Jesse texts him pictures.  Many of them are suggestive or downright pornographic— Jesse with his cock in his hand, come smeared over his belly.  Jesse in nothing but jeans, fly pulled wide to show the dark thatch of hair on his abdomen. Jesse reflected in his filthy bathroom mirror, towel slung low on his hips as he tugged at one of his nipple rings.  

 

There are also a host of mundane things.  A stray dog that always shows up at the mechanic shop where he works.  A glass of beer sitting on the bar of some restaurant, ice cold and dripping condensation down the side.  His motorcycle with fresh tires on it and a slew of hearts,  _ look at my girl, ain’t she beautiful? _

 

Jack tries to reply with ‘got nothing on you, sweetheart’, but Gabriel steals his phone back and  sends a shrug emoji instead.

 

Jesse has his moments.  When he’s looking up at his camera from underneath his lashes, blushing hot with a wet mouth.  That grin he gets sometimes, shit-eating and genuine. How he flusters when Gabriel compliments him while he’s streaming, cheeks pink and eyes sliding away from the screen.

 

Jack is absolutely right— Jesse is prettier than he has any fucking right to be— but Gabriel isn’t gonna tell either of them that.  He scrolls down the main page of the dossier for Jack’s benefit, letting him skim over the details.

 

It’s definitely an invasion of privacy, but Gabriel has done worse things for much less noble reasons.  He just wants to know where Jesse is; what he’s doing, who he lives with, where he works.

 

Who it is that keeps putting those bruises on him.  Where he got that haunted look in his eyes.

 

There are separate files full of pictures, organized roughly by date.  Jesse in his high school yearbook. Three other mugshots. Pictures and descriptions detailing his Deadlock tattoos, dozens of badly taken selfies.  Nothing about him being a camboy— Gabriel is going to have to let Olivia know her software has holes in it— but everything else is present and accounted for in neat black and white.  

 

He’s part of Deadlock, supposedly, but from what Gabriel can tell Jesse spends five or six days a week buried in broken down motorcycles, and his spare time eating at the same shitty steakhouse or jerking off on camera.  There’s not a lot of room left for low-rent motorcycle gang bullshit, but even if there was, the arrests and the gang affiliation and the general sense of rowdy lawlessness that surrounds Jesse don’t bother Gabriel.

 

The medical records do; they’re significantly more ominous.  Gabriel reads through files detailing fractured ribs, a broken nose, impressive bruising.  Alcohol poisoning on two separate occasions. Internal injuries Gabriel would normally associate with combat rather than some underfed desert gangbanger, along with a host of other troubling things.

 

Things that make Gabriel quietly furious.  Things that make him want to gear up and head to New Mexico with a few old friends to clean house, or call in some favors with the FBI.  

 

Things that make him weak and soft and enraged all at once, and he wants to tuck Jesse in his bed with Jack and keep him there for good.

 

At the end of some of the records there are notes from the attending physicians,  _ patient declined to file police report, AMA.  _

 

Gabriel grinds his teeth.

 

Jack is still clicking around on the screen, reading over the high points and sipping at his beer.

 

“So you’re serious about this guy, then,” Jack says; it isn’t a question.  Gabriel frowns, grabbing his tablet and pulling up public satellite imaging to try and get a view of Jesse’s trailer.

 

“What?  No,” Gabriel insists, reorienting the map on his screen and zooming in on one corner of the trailer park he’s looking at, trying to figure out which units correspond to which numbers.  

 

The denial is knee-jerk.  Jack huffs a laugh.

 

“Okay.  You pulled a full dossier on him, medical and everything, because you’re, what?  Curious?”

 

Gabriel finally has the satellite image the way he wants it; he recognizes the ugly blanket in the window, even grainy and from a bad angle.  There are a half dozen motorcycles parked haphazardly in the driveway. He takes down the license plates he can read, saving the image so he can try to parse makes and models on the others.  He wants to know who lives with Jesse, wants to know who works with him. Who he answers to in Deadlock, if anyone.

 

Wants names, and next of kin.

 

Wants to know where to apply pressure so he can break them, if necessary.  He doesn’t need to tell Jack all this, because Jack already knows. Gabriel shrugs one shoulder, doing his best not to catch the look on Jack’s face out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You’ve seen him.  Somebody close to him is a piece of shit, and I wanna know who.”

 

Jack’s face darkens some as he scrolls through more of the files.

 

“Because that’s our business,” he says, and Gabriel shrugs again.

 

It is now.  

 

Jesse is now.

 

“I’m making it our business.”

 

Jack sighs and sets his beer down on the coffee table, taking the laptop from Gabriel and starting over at the beginning of the dossier.

 

“Give me those plate numbers and the address where he works.”

 

Jesse’s not a job, so they spend the evening pressed in close, laptop glowing between them long after the sun goes down.

 

-

 

Jesse is sitting on his bed, computer whirring in his lap as he finishes the last of his beer.  The last of his fourth beer, technically, and everything is soft and warm around the edges. He’s supposed to be streaming tonight, but getting off for a couple hundred dollars sounds like an awful lot of work when he’s half-drunk, hazy from the joint he just finished smoking.  It’s not like he needs the money, right now.

 

There’s over six grand in his bank account, plus another couple thousand on the pile of worn out gift cards in his wallet.  There’s nothing he needs. Nothing he wants, or at least nothing that he could explain away to Riggs and the guys. They’re already suspicious, and Jesse isn’t surprised.

 

He’s putting on weight.  Keeping himself cleaned up more often, wearing nicer clothes.  His bike is pristine, now, and he’s using cologne, and trimming his beard.  Smiling more, and hiding away in his room.

 

Ducking Sol and his boys with expert precision, even when they offer to feed him, or pay for his beer.  

 

_ Come drink with us, Jesse,  _ but Jesse knows how that tends to go, especially if it’s been a while.

 

For the first time in a long time, Jesse thinks of running.  Packing as much of his shit as he can carry, and loading up his bike.

 

Leaving the gorge behind and never looking back.  He’s got enough money, now. He could make it to the city, find some ratty apartment.  Look for a job at a shop somewhere and hope they didn’t wanna talk to his former employers.  Even if Gabriel stopped filling up his bank account, Jesse could probably make it on his own.  

 

Deadlock is all he knows— all he’s known for ages— but it’s starting to feel like a wound buried under his skin.

 

Like something that’s gonna rot if he doesn’t dig it out, and soon.

 

Jesse doesn’t go out with the boys, and he doesn’t boot up his stream, typing out a haphazard note in the chat instead.  There are already a few people there, Gabriel among them, and Jesse doesn’t want to leave everyone hanging.

 

_ No show tonight, sorry fellas!  See ya next week! _

 

Then he activates a private feed, and sends Gabe the link, nerves rattling in his chest.  The last time Jesse remembered feeling like this he’d been a teenager, reaching out with shaky fingers to fist his hands in another boy’s shirt and drag him into a clumsy kiss.  

 

Gabriel makes Jesse feel wanted.  Makes him feel like he’s worth something, even if it’s only because he looks good naked.  

 

Jesse’s never dated anyone, really.  He hardly sees anyone who isn’t a Deadlock nowadays, other than in passing, and he definitely doesn’t want to spend more time with them than necessary.  Riggs is alright, and Jesse doesn’t mind hanging out with him when it’s just the two of them, but get too many of the boys together and he gets a little meaner.  Jesse doesn’t blame him.

 

He gets a little meaner, too.

 

Some of the older guys have wives, but they still sleep around with the girls at the bar.  Others have a string of one night stands with no apparent desire for anything else. Nobody he knows is any kind of normal relationship.  Jesse never gave it a lot of thought before— it’s just how things are, and there’s no point in worrying too much about it.

 

Except Gabriel seems like the kinda guy who’d take Jesse to dinner, or to the movies.  He’d bitch about it the whole time, probably, but he’d let Jesse order anything on the menu, or pick what they watched at the theater.  Jesse wonders if he’d hold his hand, or put his arm around him, or any of the other cliche shit he’s only ever seen on television.

 

It’s taken all these months of easy flirtation and tentative intimacy with a specific person for him to realize it’s something he craves.  The casual affection of someone who wants him— not out of convenience, but by choice.

 

An impossible thing.

 

Like money in his wallet, and nice clothes in his closet.  Gas and cigarettes that never run out. 

 

Medicine he didn’t have to steal.

 

He probably shouldn’t be reaching out to Gabe when he’s like this, half-drunk and hazy, loneliness swelling like a hole in his chest.  Jesse will say something stupid. Do something stupid.

 

Push too far and lose what little security he has, but he doesn’t have much time to regret things.

 

Gabriel shows up in the chat, a soft trill drawing Jesse’s eyes to the screen, but there is nothing to see.  He’s activated the feed on chat only; there is a small rectangle on the bottom right that shows Jesse’s face, but the bulk of the screen is gray.  Jesse smiles at the camera, head resting in the palm of one hand where he sits cross legged on the bed, elbow on his knee. 

 

“Awww, don’t be like that,” he says teasingly.  There are immediately dots pulsing in the chat, followed by a message.

 

**jackoffgabe:** be like what?

 

“Thought you might let me see you, if it was just the two of us.  Been wondering who it is takin’ such good care of me all this time.  I mean, you ain’t  _ gotta,  _ but it’d be nice.  Putting a face to ya.”

 

Jesse doesn’t realize he’s going to ask until it’s already out of his mouth, and then he can’t take it back.

 

Gabe types for a long time after that, but the only message that comes through is short and to the point.

 

**jackoffgabe:** ask nice

 

Jesse grins again, crooked, warmth twisting in his belly.

 

“Please,” he says, eyes shining, “let me see you.”

 

The next handful of seconds stretch on for an eternity, but then the screen flickers as Gabriel’s webcam comes to life.  Jesse’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open; he can feel the stupid look on his face, but he can’t do anything to help it.

 

“Oh my  _ god.” _

 

There are  _ two  _ men, visible from the waist up on Jesse’s laptop, and neither one of them is anything like Jesse expected.  They’re both huge, and scarred, and shirtless, muscled in ways that make Jesse immediately self-conscious, if only for a moment.

 

Then his dick takes over, and he rakes his eyes up and down them, and forgets to feel inferior.

 

_ “Goddamn,”  _ he hisses, reaching up to adjust a hat he isn’t wearing.  Jesse can’t even manage to be embarrassed about it. 

 

He isn’t sure exactly what kinda guy he’d been picturing, but this definitely isn’t it.  One of them is in a beanie and an unzipped hoodie, chest exposed to reveal scars criss-crossing it in half a dozen places.  He’s got some facial hair; manicured, and Jesse thinks of all the soap and shampoo and grooming tools he’s been sent. Nail files and miniature scissors and tiny brushes he doesn’t know what to do with.

 

Tall, dark, and handsome, even with the smug look on his face.

 

Especially with the smug look on his face.

 

The other is just as scarred, bright blue eyes and wild blond hair with white shot through it in places.  He’s got a beer in his hand— a cheap beer, which is weird, but it’s hardly the most relevant thing at the moment.  There more than a day’s worth of scruff on his jaw, and Jesse runs his palm across his own, and thinks about what it’d feel like against his throat.

 

“Which one of you’s Gabe?”

 

Tall, dark, and handsome points at the blond.

 

“Jack.”  Then he points at himself, smirking.  “Gabe.”

 

Jackoffgabe.  Jesse smiles again, looking between the two of them.

 

“Who’ve I been talkin’ to all this time?”

 

Gabriel shrugs.

 

“Me, mostly.  Jackie sometimes, when he catches a message on my phone first.”

 

“So what, you guys just hang out, watch porn together?”  

 

They both smirk.

 

“Something like that,” Jack says, lifting his beer up deliberately to show off the wedding band on his ring finger before he takes another drink.  Gabriel lifts his hand too, and there’s a matching band there, platinum catching the light. 

 

“No way!”  Jesse shouts incredulously, laughing.  “You’re married?” The rings are evidence enough, but Jesse needs to say it out loud anyway.  The thought of two rich, absurdly hot married guys getting off to him together is dizzying.

 

“Unfortunately,” Gabriel says, and Jack rolls his eyes.

 

“Kiss him,” Jesse says, a challenge in his voice.  It comes off like he doesn’t believe them but really it’s just the first impulsive thing that pops in his head.  Now Gabriel rolls his eyes, and Jack laughs softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Gabriel’s cheek. Jesse shakes his head, reaching for another beer and waving it drunkenly at the screen.  “Nah, nah, nah.  _ KISS  _ him,” he insists.

 

They’re both grinning as Jack obliges, tugging Gabriel in for a sloppy kiss, tongues spilling messy against one another.  It’s filthier than anything Jesse is capable of on his own, and he’s undeniably hard when they pull away, hand over his mouth as he smiles wide against his palm.

 

“Holy  _ shit.   _ I was expectin’ some ugly old businessman, not…  _ this.” _

 

Gabriel wipes the drool off his mouth.  Jack doesn’t bother.

 

“Technically we are ugly old businessmen,” Gabriel says, and Jesse cocks up a brow at him.

 

“Y’all ain’t  _ that  _ old.  ‘N you definitely ain’t ugly.  Shit, what the fuck are you even paying me for, look at y’all.”  

 

All Jesse can do is look at them, fumbling his beer twice before he manages to twist the cap off.  He hadn’t understood why someone would want to give him such exorbitant amounts of money for jerking off before, and it makes even less sense now.  

 

“You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy,” Gabriel says.  Jesse doesn’t try to hide his flush— just covers his face for a second, peeking through his fingers at them.  Then something occurs to him, and he levels a finger at his screen accusingly.

 

“Why am I only talkin’ to him if there’s two of you?  That ain’t fair.”

 

Jack feels more like a stranger than Gabriel, and Jesse doesn’t like it.  Jack lifts his hands in mock surrender and makes a show of picking up his phone.  Neither of them has stopped smiling, but Jack’s grin slides wider as he taps at it for a bit.  Then Jesse’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it— an unknown number, text scrolling across his screen.

 

_ Who said anything about fair? _

 

Jesse's a little breathless as they both look at him with a mix of fondness and amusement.  He drops his phone back down on the bed.

 

“That’s more like it,” he says, and Gabriel laughs again.

 

“You got something planned, or was this a spur of the moment thing?”  Gabriel asks, and Jack shoots him a glare.

 

“Not that you have to DO anything,” he adds, nudging hard Gabriel in the shoulder before looking back at the screen.  “It’s nice just talking to you, Jesse.” Gabriel balks, looking at Jack like he’s been betrayed.

 

“That’s not what I meant!”

 

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Jack adds.  Gabriel lays a palm on his cheek and shoves at him, and Jesse smiles so wide it hurts.

 

“I hate you,” Gabriel grumbles.  Jack kisses him again with a loud smack..

 

He hadn’t thought things this far through when he sent them the stream link, and he isn’t really sure what to do.  They usually get a show this time every week. He doesn’t want to disappoint, especially after they let Jesse see them face to face.  He might be too buzzed to get off right then, but there are some things he’s better at when he’s drunk and just the wrong side of stoned.

 

When he is loose, and relaxed, and eager to please.

 

“Let me dance for you,” he says after a moment’s hesitation, not missing the way Jack’s eyes glitter with interest, or how Gabriel reaches down to adjust himself in his clothes.

 

“Show us your moves, cowboy,” Gabriel replies, Jack moving closer to him on the couch to get a better view.

 

Jesse stands up and kicks the mess in his floor into a corner.  He’d feel embarrassed about it, except they’ve already seen it worse than this, and he can’t really muster up the awkwardness.    He repositions his laptop onto his desk, adjusting the screen so he’ll be visible, and then clicks at his computer to get some music going.

 

The song starts, and Jesse moves instinctively, body falling into familiar patterns.  He may not always be a particularly great dancer, but he always enjoys himself, and he’s been practicing.  A lot of camboys and camgirls rake in a lot of cash just stripping on stream, so Jesse’s been watching videos, trying to get the hang of it.  

 

Jesse rolls his hips, and runs his hands down his chest.  Slides them back up, fingers slipping into his mouth sometimes, or sinking in his hair.  He works the buttons open on his flannel little by little before tossing it to the floor.  Eases his hands into his jeans only to pull them out again, unbuckling his belt with teasing slowness.  The music crests, song shifting over into the next one on his playlist, just as sultry and suggestive.

 

Jesse’s sweating and breathing hard by the time his jeans are undone, playing with his nipple rings, grinding into his palm.

 

It’s easier than it’s ever been with their eyes on him, heated and hyper focused.  He moves sinuously, all the uncertainty fading away to leave confidence in its wake.  Jack and Gabriel like spoiling him, like talking to him, like teasing him.

 

Like watching him dance, and he hadn’t planned on trying to get off, but he’s hard in his briefs when he finally looks up again.

 

They’ve got their hands in each other’s boxers, stroking lazy as though they’ve got all the time in the world.  He shoves his underwear down his thighs and wraps his fingers around himself, chest heaving with exertion and cheeks hot.

 

Jesse ends up coming over his fingers, leaning on the desk his laptop is on, calling their names like they’re the only words he knows.  They’ve both already finished by the time he comes back to himself, pearly slick shining on Gabriel’s knuckles, Jack breathing hard where he’s slumped against him.

 

Jesse falls down into the chair next to his desk, and wipes his hand on a stray shirt, shifting the laptop so he stays in frame.

 

“We’re doin’ that again,” he says with a grin, then hesitates.  “If y’all want, that is. Couple hundred extra bucks ain’t worth listenin’ to everybody else’s bullshit, with what you’re paying me.”

 

Gabriel lifts one shoulder ambivalently.

 

“We wouldn’t object.”

 

Jack shoves him again.

 

“We’d like that a lot,” he says, looking at Gabriel accusingly.

 

“Fine, yes!  We would.” He meets Jesse’s eyes on screen as best he can.  “You don’t need to put on a show for those assholes anymore. Me and Jackie will take care of you just fine.”

 

Jesse leans forward and puts his face in his hands to hide the stupid fucking smile on it, but it isn’t very effective; it’s still there when he drops them, wide and unfettered.

 

They talk for a while, Jesse pressing for as much information they’ll give him, but eventually his eyelids start to droop and they insist he go to bed.  He bids them goodnight and crawls under the covers, tucking his face into his elbow even all alone in the dark.

 

It feels reckless to be this happy, but Jesse can’t seem to stop.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things, or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/?lang=en)


	5. Vestige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags. If you don't like unresolved conflict you might skip this one, and wait for the next chapter (in a week or so) and read them together to save yourself the suffering :D

Winter comes to the desert in earnest in the last week of January.  

 

Even in his leathers Jesse’s cold from the ride into town.  He’s sitting at the bar nursing a beer, heels resting on the metal rungs of his stool, trying to decide how soon he can leave without drawing attention to himself.  Cigarette smoke coils thick in the air, the music just loud enough that everyone has to shout over it to be heard, pool balls clacking periodically in the background.  Riggs had coerced him into coming,  _ you never show your face anymore, people been askin’ about you. _

 

Jesse is inclined to let them keep asking, but Riggs is persistent, and so here Jesse is; wincing at the noise, trying not to scowl.

 

The bar is raucous as always— it’s Deadlock’s bar in every way that matters, and the boys are out in force tonight.  They’re more keyed up than usual, agitated and getting into fights; someone stole one of Deadlock’s stashes a few days ago.  They made off with a solid amount of coke and pills, along with a half dozen weapons and a backpack full of cash. Jesse is too low on the totem pole to have any idea where the gang’s bolt holes are, but he’s still catching some sidelong glances.  It had to have been someone in the gang, but no one has any idea who, and the longer Jesse is here the more he thinks he should have stayed home.

 

“Where’d you get them boots, pretty boy?”  

 

It’s one of the older Deadlocks sitting a few stools down from him.  Everyone calls him Jay, but Jesse doesn’t think it’s actually his name.  They’ve never really gotten along, and Jesse’s never seen any reason to force it, but right now he’s looking at Jesse as though he doesn’t like what he sees; Jesse meets his eyes, and spits on the floor between them.

 

“Your old lady bought ‘em for me,” Jesse replies with a forced grin, unease creeping higher in his guts.  Nausea rolls through him, and he swallows around the saliva that pools in his mouth. “Said it was the least she could do.”

 

He’s braced for a reaction, ready to jump to his feet and brawl.  Getting into a fight with a surly old fuck would be better than all the Deadlocks in earshot loudly wondering about where Jesse came up with the money for new gear.  Jay doesn’t move, though— just looks Jesse up and down, sucking at his teeth.

 

“Those are some nice tires on your ride, too.”

 

It comes from the other side of Jesse.  Jay’s buddy V is leaning against the wall, watching their exchange with a barely leashed sort of eagerness.  He’s got a cigarette in one hand, but his other is at his side, fist clenching and unclenching. Jesse’s heartbeat quickens, a little jolt of adrenaline thrumming through him.  Taking Jay in a fight would be easy. Taking Jay and V together, not so much. 

 

Still better than drawing the attention of the whole damn bar to Jesse; his nice clothes and his pristine tires and his newfound appreciation for solitude.

 

Jesse will take a beating before he lets them get too keen on asking questions.  He downs the rest of his beer in a few messy gulps, slamming the glass on the bar before shooting V a smirk.

 

“Yeah, some of us know how to change a tire.  Need me to show you, old man? You sure the fuck come ‘round the shop to have me do it for you often enough, figured you’d’ve learned by now.”

 

There’s still no posturing.  No threats. V hums in response, looking over at Jay in a way that makes Jesse’s skin crawl.  Jesse gets to his feet, turning his back on them like they’re no concern of his and heading towards the door.  

 

When he walks outside he stumbles directly into Sol, who starts to shove Jesse backwards before he realizes who he is; then he smiles, and steadies him.

 

Gets in his space and cages him up against the wall a feet from the door, shadows swallowing them both.  Jesse’s heart beats frantic in his chest, and his stomach turns again, sour enough that he feels like he might be sick.

 

“Jesse,” Sol purrs, forearm flat against the wall over Jesse’s head, face tilted down towards him.  “Ain’t seen you around much, baby. Where you been?”

 

It’s not entirely true.  Sol  _ has  _ seen him around.

 

Saw him around a few nights before, and eased a hand around his throat, smelling like whiskey and cheap cigarettes.  Tilted his chin up, and squeezed, mouth on Jesse’s jaw.

 

_ Let me show you how much I been missin’ you, sugar,  _ and Jesse had closed his eyes, and drifted somewhere far away.

 

Thought of Jack and Gabriel, and didn’t come back to himself for a long, long time.

 

Now Sol fits his hand around the bruises he’d left behind, and Jesse fights down the urge to cut and run.

 

“Dunno what you mean.  You seen me three nights ago, Sol.”

 

It comes out steady even though he’s shaky inside, all that false bravado from earlier long gone.  Sol tucks his nose into Jesse’s hair. The smell of stale liquor gets stronger.

 

“Used to see you ‘round all the time.  Now I gotta chase you down. Who you been holed up with, Jess?  I need to be jealous?” There’s an eruption of sound from inside the bar, breaking glass and shouting.  Someone calls Sol’s name, and he looks towards the noise for a moment, then back at Jesse. “Don’t go nowhere, baby.  I’ll be right back.”

 

He’s weaving when he disappears inside the bar, drunk enough that he has to catch himself on the door frame.  

 

If Jesse is lucky, Sol won’t even remember talking to him.

 

He gets on his bike, and rides home.

 

-

 

Twenty minutes later Jesse is tucked away in his room wearing a worn out blue hoodie with an old Overwatch insignia emblazoned across it.  The ends of the sleeves are frayed, and there are a couple of little holes along the bottom hem. When he presses his nose into the fabric he can still smell faint traces of cologne that isn’t his own.

 

Jesse does it now, shoving his face against the cotton; Jack smells like this, woodsy and soft.  

 

Jesse breathes in deep, and closes his eyes.

 

It’s been two months since he first saw Jack and Gabriel, and he feels like he knows them better than most of Deadlock at this point.

 

They take turns sending him embarrassing photos of one another.  For a married couple they’re oddly competitive about everything, and Jesse’s attention is no exception.  Jack likes taking pictures of Gabriel while he’s sleeping, mouth open as he drools on himself. Gabriel seems to prefer candids.  Jesse gets a host of images of Jack with surprised looks on his face, or shooting a glare at the camera mid-word. 

 

There are other pictures as well; never anything scandalous, but Jesse gets selfies from them on occasion if he asks.  Gabriel is always self-assured and preening, shots framed to show off his body, or smirking like he’s amused. Jesse learns early on that giving Gabriel compliments is a terrible idea; he knows how he looks, and he definitely doesn’t need any encouragement from Jesse about anything, at all, ever.

 

Jack’s pictures are usually just his face, eyes looking off to the side like he’s embarrassed to be taking them at all— he’s weirdly shy about himself without Gabriel as a buffer, and it’s so fucking endearing it makes Jesse’s stomach twist.  Jesse does compliment him, a lot, and he flusters every time like it’s some new, surprising thing. In texts it mostly manifests as him telling Jesse to shut the fuck up, but when they’re video chatting Jesse gets to watch him blush and look away.  He covers his mouth with his palm sometimes, rubbing at it and refusing to make eye contact; Gabriel coos at Jack just to get a rise out of him. 

 

Once they end up literally wrestling until Jack gets Gabriel in an arm lock of some sort, and watching them breathe hard and manhandle each other is hotter than any porn Jesse has ever seen.  

 

Eight months of texting endlessly with them have passed by like lightning.

 

Eleven months since they first popped up in the chat on his stream, almost a year of living easy— or easier, at least.  No more existing hand to mouth, or stressing over breaking down. Jesse’s not checking his bank account every Sunday anymore, wondering whether there’s been another deposit.  Partly because he doesn’t really need the money.

 

Mostly because he knows it’s there, just like clockwork.  More money than he can conceivably spend without answering some hard questions from the boys.  

 

Enough to get out of Deadlock, and stay gone.  

 

It’s been a while since he’s had fresh bruises on his throat.  He tries not to think too much about what Jack and Gabriel might think or say when they see them.

 

Jesse wonders where they live.  They’re in a different time zone than Jesse— an hour behind him— but that doesn’t tell him a lot.  It’s a big city; Jesse doesn’t know which one. He’s thought about asking, but they haven’t offered the information yet, and considering how much they talk it feels deliberate.

 

Jesse stares at the stars at night, and wonders if they’re close.

 

The central heating in the trailer has been busted for as long as Jesse has lived there, and he spent all of one video chat with Gabriel and Jack shivering under a blanket before they insisted he buy a space heater.  He didn’t tell them it felt like a waste when he’s a breath away from leaving.

 

Two days later there was a package at his post office box, and he opened it to find a pair of hoodies, both of them with military logos.  One in Overwatch blue, the other black and red with the Blackwatch logo on the back. Jesse was a little confused until he realized they weren’t new.  They’re both faded and thin in places; loose threads, washed soft with age.

 

They sent him their old military hoodies, the scent of soap and cologne still clinging to them.  They don’t just want Jesse to keep warm. 

 

They want him in their clothes.  

 

Jesse wore one the next time they chatted— he wasn’t trying to play favorites, but he does love red.  When they saw him Gabriel looked pleased, and then unaccountably smug, grinning at Jack like he’d won something.  It was only later that Jack told Jesse they had a bet going about which one he’d wear first.

 

Jesse wears Jack’s every time after that, just to be difficult.

 

He’s in it again tonight, pulling it on like a security blanket the moment he gets home from the bar before digging out his computer.  They always video chat on Friday and Saturday evenings, and the time isn’t set in stone, but he’s definitely later than usual. Most days it isn’t even sexual, anymore.  They just talk; ask about Jesse’s job, bitch about their coworkers, listen to Jesse talk about his bike.

 

He’s gotten a few texts from them already asking if he’s busy, if something happened,  _ you okay, Jesse? _

 

_ Getting worried about you, sweetheart, give us a call,  _ and Jesse puts his face in his hands, and tries to even out his breathing.

 

He thinks about Sol, thinks about the bar, thinks about the boys.  How everything feels tense, and fragile; as though the ground will fall out from under him with the slightest misstep.

 

Whiskey and smoke and grease in his nose,  _ don’t go nowhere, baby. _

 

Jesse knows he has to go, but he wants to find out where Jack and Gabriel are, first.

 

Wants to run towards something, maybe, instead of just away.  

 

It’s never gonna feel like the right moment, and Jesse can’t wait any longer.  He pulls his knees up to his chest in bed, and activates the video chat.

 

Sol’s teeth, and Sol’s fists, and Sol’s voice.

 

Jesse shakes.

 

They’ll tell him they want him close, or they won’t, but Jesse can’t stay here.

 

It’s harder and harder to breathe.  Jesse brushes his fingertips over his his throat, over the aching smears of black and blue.

 

It’s time to go.

 

-

 

The second the feed activates, Gabriel knows something is wrong.  

 

Jesse isn’t smiling.  He’s hugging his knees, buried in Jack’s hoodie like he’s trying to hide there, gnawing on his thumbnail with a wary expression.  There are circles under his eyes, and he seems remarkably sober for so late on a Saturday, hair falling in his face. He makes no move to push it back, and Gabriel’s fingers itch to reach out and tuck it behind his ears.  

 

Jesse seems smaller than usual, taking up less space.  When he turns his head a little Gabriel sees bruises peeking out of the collar of Jack’s hoodie, sitting high enough on his throat that they’re impossible to miss.  

 

Gabriel takes a deep breath and lets it out slow.  

 

It’s been well over six months since they’ve seen anything like that on Jesse.  Gabriel thought maybe some financial stability had helped him withdraw from whatever shitty situation he’d been forced to put himself in all this time; seeing it there again has Gabriel alight with rage.  The ferocity of the emotion takes him by surprise.

 

Someone mistreating Jesse isn’t a revelation— Gabriel knows he’s being hurt.  Knows it’s been going on for a while.

 

Still, he hasn’t been this furious in this years.  Since the war, when someone managed to get a bullet in Jack, past all his armor and buried in his side.  He thinks about blood on his hands, and the smell of gunpowder, Jack’s breathing gone all gaspy.

 

Jack puts a hand on his thigh, and squeezes.

 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Jack asks, and Jesse’s eyes skirt to the side.

 

“Nothin’.  I uh… sorry it took so long.  Riggs dragged me out to the bar.”

 

Gabriel isn’t sure he can talk without the anger he’s feeling seeping into his voice, but he isn’t mad at Jesse, and he doesn’t want to spook him.  He seems skittish enough already, like he’s half ready to bolt. Jack picks up Gabriel’s slack without prompting.

 

“Jesse.  What’s wrong?  You can tell us.”

 

Jesse deflates even further, sinking into himself.

 

“I uh… I need to ask y’all somethin’.  You ain’t gotta answer, if you don’t wanna.  It’s just…” 

 

Jesse trails off, and Gabriel sits up straighter.

 

“Baby,” Gabriel says, and that gets Jesse’s attention, has him looking back at the screen.  “Just ask.”

 

Jesse breathes out; it’s shaky and uneven.

 

“I gotta get out of here.  I can’t stay here anymore. ‘m gonna end up-”  Jesse’s voice starts to break, and he quiets; closes his eyes, and swallows before he opens them again.  “I got enough money to get a place of my own, but I was wondering… I don’t know where you guys are, and I don’t know nobody outside the gorge.  Figured if I was running it might be nice to have somebody close.”

 

Relief courses through Gabriel— stark and all-consuming,  like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day. He’s wanted to scoop Jesse up and bring him home for months now, but they didn’t want to push him, and he’s never mentioned wanting to leave New Mexico.  

 

Gabriel’s talking in a rush before he can stop himself.

 

“Come to LA, Jesse.  Pack your shit and let us buy you a plane ticket.  Or— hell, you can ride here in half a day, probably.  We’ll find you an apartment. We’ll take care of you, whatever you need.  Just get the fuck  _ out  _ of there.  You’re— you’re  _ miserable,  _ and you’re hurt and you’re so far away.  I fucking  _ hate it.” _

 

There are countless other rambling, desperate things on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue, but he forces them down, forces himself to wait.  Jesse’s looking between the two of them on his screen. A tear tracks down one of his cheeks, and he reaches up with his hand, and paws it away.

 

“You’re sure… y’all don’t mind?  I got money saved up, I—”

 

“Jesse,” Jack says emphatically, fingers threading through Gabriel’s, giving him something to ground himself, “we don’t give a shit about the money.  Of  _ course  _ we want you here.  We’ve been talking about it for a while now, we just didn’t want to pressure you.”

 

Jesse’s blinking fast, and breathing very carefully, like he’s trying not to break down in front of them.  It makes Gabriel feel fucking useless— seeing Jesse need them, and being unable to do a goddamn thing to fix it.

 

“How soon can you leave?”  Gabriel asks, already fifteen steps ahead in his mind; apartments that are close enough to satisfy him, but not so ritzy that they’re gonna make Jesse uncomfortable.  

 

He needs space in a garage to store his bike and tools.  A house would be better, but Gabriel doesn’t know how insistent Jesse’s going to be about paying for it himself, and there’s no way he can swing it in LA on what they’ve been giving him so far.  They’ll have to get furniture, and appliances— Jesse might want to pick things out himself, but it would be faster to pay someone do it for them.

 

Gabriel is drawn back to the present when Jesse lets out another shaky breath, but this one is more like a laugh.

 

“I ain’t never been on a plane.  I can’t— I got my bike, I can’t leave her here.”

 

It makes sense that Jesse would rather ride in than fly, even if it’s slower.  Gabriel wants him in California  _ right now,  _ but he isn’t gonna try and force him on a plane if he doesn’t want that.  He’s waited for months now, he can wait another few hours.

 

He’s opening his mouth to speak when there’s a riot of noise on Jesse’s end.  

 

Their conversations have been interrupted by Jesse’s roommates coming home early enough times that Gabriel recognizes the rumble of a handful of motorcycles pulling up outside Jesse’s trailer right away.

 

Except Jesse doesn’t usually look terrified by the sound, eyes going wide as he stumbles to his window to pull the blanket back and peer outside.  The engines die off, and there’s the stomping of boots on wood.

 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Jesse hisses, eyes glued to the window; Gabriel can hear shouting, a chorus of drunken voices getting louder as Jesse wheels around to face his door.  

 

“Jesse, what’s wrong?”  Gabriel asks, but Jesse doesn’t answer.

 

Someone kicks his door in, splinters flying as the trim is snapped off.  One of the hinges is ripped from the wood, leaving the door hanging at a strange angle before it’s shoved against the wall with a clatter.  

 

“Where’s our money, Jesse?  Always were a shit thief. Can’t even shoplift pills from the goddamn pharmacy, dunno why you thought you could manage this.”  

 

Jesse draws himself up to his full height, fists clenched at his sides and chin high.

 

“What the fuck, Sol!  I dunno what the  _ fuck  _ you’re talking about!  You know goddamn well I ain’t got a clue where y’all keep that shit.”

 

Sol reaches up with both hands and shoves Jesse backwards hard enough that he slams into his nightstand.  Beer bottles roll off into the floor, glass breaking. Jesse staggers up to his feet.

 

“Holed up by yourself all the time, bike fixed up all nice... who’s dick you suckin’ to pay for all that?  Sure ain’t mine. Don’t even remember seein’ you the other day.” Gabriel watches with a snarl on his face as Sol buries a fist in Jesse’s hair and wrenches his head back, leaning in close.  “Too good for everybody all of a sudden. Got money to spend, ain’t sniffing around for free meal, ain’t spending no time with the boys. Makes a man wonder what you been up to, baby. Makes a man wonder where your loyalties lie.”

 

More people are filing in behind Sol, all caught somewhere between furious and amused.  The three of them pack into Jesse’s room just inside the door. 

 

Gabriel’s breathing like he’s just run for miles, teeth grinding so hard his jaw aches.

 

Jack is looking for something on his  _ phone,  _ why the fuck is Jack on the  _ phone- _

 

“My bike’s been fixed up for months!  You ain’t even makin’ sense! How the fuck did I steal a stash three days ago and get my bike running last August!”

 

Sol’s hand drops from Jesse’s hair and closes around his throat instead, squeezing until his mouth falls open, Jesse clawing wildly at his fingers as he lifts him up on his toes.

 

“Somebody taking real good care of you, only natural you wanna return the favor, right?  Ungrateful thievin’ piece of  _ shit.”   _

 

Everything feels suspended for a moment; something arcing high in the air, hovering just before it falls.

 

Sol raises his fist and slams it into Jesse’s face.  

 

Blood sprays, and Jesse crumples, and then the rest of the Deadlocks in the doorway converge on him.  Gabriel can’t see him anymore where he’s lying in the floor, but he can see Sol and two of the others raining down kicks on him.  

 

He can’t see him, but he can  _ hear  _ him, gasping under the blows and trying to mumble out words.

 

_ Stop, please, it wasn’t me... _

 

Gabriel reaches for a knife he doesn’t have.  He can see blood on the wall.

 

Jesse is worlds away.

 

The other Deadlock is tossing Jesse’s room as best he can with Jesse taking a beating in the center of it, opening drawers and rifling through shit.  Gabriel watches him pocket Jesse’s wallet, and his phone, and his keys. There’s a little red light blinking in one corner of his screen— Jack hit the record button at some point.  Gabriel hadn’t noticed.

 

Jack’s talking in the background,  _ yes, I need an ambulance at Eastside Trailer Park, unit 11,  _ but Gabriel can’t process it over the ringing in his ears.  Over the roaring in his blood.

 

Gabriel can’t breathe.  Can’t think. Can’t move.

 

Someone new staggers into the room, wide eyed and frantic.

 

“Sol, stop!  You’re fucking killing him!”  It’s Jesse’s roommate, Riggs. He jumps into the fray, shoving at everyone, trying to push them away from Jesse.  “He didn’t take shit! Get the fuck off him!” 

 

They toss him aside like a ragdoll, but he charges forward again, shouldering into them one by one.  He catches a fist to the face and shakes it off, kicking one of them in the stomach, headbutting another.  There’s blood pouring from his mouth. 

 

He doesn’t look angry; he looks terrified.

 

He keeps fighting anyway.  It doesn’t do either of them a lot of good.  The Deadlocks merely turn their attention from Jesse to Riggs for a moment, throwing punches and shoving him back and forth between them.  

 

He’s starting to look woozy when a siren wails in the distance.  Everyone on Gabriel’s screen looks up in unison, and Sol sneers, glaring at Riggs.

 

“You call the law, you little shit?  You’ll fuckin’ regret that.”

 

Gabriel can’t hear Jesse making noises anymore.  Riggs kneels down beside him, mumbling softly.

 

“Jesse?  Jesse, c’mon, hey, hey.  Open your eyes, man, please look at me, Jesse.”

 

He sounds like he’s about to cry.

 

Gabriel’s throat is tight.  Jack is holding his hand again.  He’s still on the phone.

 

Sol glances around the room as though he’s looking for something.  Gabriel’s not sure what, but his gaze settles on the computer instead.  He doesn’t seem to realize it’s a live feed as opposed to a video.

 

He picks up a beer bottle and flings it at the laptop; there’s the sound of breaking glass, and then the screen goes black.  

 

All the air has been sucked out of the room.

 

_ Please, stop, it wasn’t me. _

 

Gabriel turns to Jack, phone still pressed to his ear.  He doesn’t know what kind of look is on his face, but Jack squeezes his hand.

 

“I’m still on hold.  You get us packed.”

 

Jack called Jesse an ambulance.  Jack is buying plane tickets. 

 

_ Please look at me, Jesse. _

 

Gabriel is furious, but Jack is getting things done, and Gabriel loves him for it.

 

He heads into their room, and grabs a suitcase.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on twitter.


	6. Scrap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags! Especially the gore.

Someone’s touching Jesse’s face; palms on his cheeks, sticky and rough.  Something soft brushes against his mouth. Fingers, maybe. Someone’s thumb.

 

“Jesse, come on, man.  Don’t do this to me.”

 

Riggs sounds far away, like Jesse’s underwater and can’t quite break the surface.  He tries to make his mouth work, and the noise that comes out is animal. Something that’s been gutted, bleeding out on asphalt.

 

“Take a breath for me.  Jesse,  _ please.” _

 

He breathes, and it’s agony.  A knife in his lungs, pressing deep and twisting.  Jesse tries to lift his arm, to lay a palm over his ribs like it might help the ache, but the pain in his wrist is enough to make him sob.  

 

Shallow gasping inhales.  Little helpless shivers.

 

He coughs and blood pours out of his mouth, trickling warm and wet down his chin.  Only one of his eyes will open, eyelashes tacky with gore; Jesse squints through it, nausea rolling over him in a wave.  

 

He’s outside now, sitting in the driveway and leaning back into Riggs.  The stars are crystalline in the sky overhead; they’re too pretty.

 

Jesse feels like he’s dying under them.

 

Riggs has a hand on Jesse’s chest.  There’s a siren getting louder by the second, echoing viciously in his ears.  Jesse’s head is killing him. He leans over as far as he can and retches into the dirt; onto Riggs, onto himself.  Riggs doesn’t recoil as Jesse gags— just keeps him upright, supporting his weight. Paws filthy hair out of his face, hands trembling.

 

When Jesse raises his eyes he sees his bike, laying on her side and smashed all to fuck.  The tires are both slashed; the headlights busted, oil and gasoline leaking into the dirt.  They must have taken a crowbar to her, or maybe a hammer. Shattered mirrors and dented metal glimmer in the dark.

 

Jesse whines, reaching out towards her with shaking fingers.

 

_ “Baby,”  _ he slurs, “no, no, no, what’d they do to you?”

 

Riggs laughs, and it’s dark and humorless.

 

“Jesus fuck, Jesse.  Don’t worry about that right now.”

 

Jesse wants to argue— he spent so many hours fixing her up, and now she’s in pieces on the ground next to him— but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.  The world spins some more, listing violently around him; he retches again. 

 

His arm isn’t working right.  His lungs are full of water.

 

Both of them lying there, broken and useless.  

 

There are bright lights in his eyes, flashing red and blue.  He wonders why the cops have come to the trailer park.

 

No one would have called them; everyone knows better.

 

“Didn’t do nothin’,” he says weakly, reaching up with his good hand to grab Riggs’ shirt.  “Riggs. Riggs, tell ‘em. I ain’t done  _ shit,  _ tell ‘em.”

 

Riggs laughs again, squeezing him tighter.

 

“It’s an ambulance, dumbass.  You’re going to the hospital.”

 

Jesse frowns.  It hurts his face.

 

“You called an ambulance?”

 

He must be really fucked up if Riggs called 911.  

 

Jesse feels Riggs behind him, shaking his head.

 

“Wasn’t me.”

 

Everything hurts.  Jesse is tired. 

 

Riggs isn’t very happy about it, but Jesse closes his eyes.

 

-

 

Jesse fades in and out in stuttering flashes, or at least his memory does.  Everything is hazy. 

 

Someone shines a light in his eyes, and Jesse hisses, and rears back.

 

“That fuckin’  _ hurts,”  _ he says, but they ignore Jesse and keep on shining it at him anyway.

 

There’s the sting of a needle in his arm.  Someone cuts off his clothes. Cuts off his hoodie, and he tries to tell them to stop, no,  _ that’s Jack’s, it’s all I got, please. _

 

They ask him a lot questions, and Jesse tries to answer, but it’s hard to talk.  Hard to breathe.

 

Hard to think.

 

Then-

 

“We’re gonna give you some medicine, okay?  Just relax.”

 

There’s something cold in his veins, and the pain that’s eating him alive ebbs, and rolls back.  His eyelids are heavy.

 

Jesse goes to sleep.

 

-

 

There’s blood on the ground outside Jesse’s trailer, messy smears of it mixed with oil, all of it dark and ominous.  Gabriel stares at it with his fists clenched, the sun only just starting to creep over the horizon.

 

“I told you I got this.  Go to the hospital, I’ll catch up.”

 

Gabriel shakes his head.  

 

Jesse won’t be out of surgery for a while yet, and Gabriel doesn’t do well in waiting rooms.  

 

There’s no one at Jesse’s place right now; they need to get in and out before that changes.

 

There’s more blood on the porch, little random splatters.  The door is hanging open. There’s a handprint on the frame, dark crimson smearing off down the wood.  Gabriel barely spares a glance for the rest of the house; run down furniture, dishes in the sink, trash overflowing a black sack next to the fridge.

 

Jesse’s room is torn to pieces at the end of the hall, covered in broken glass in a half dozen shades of green and brown.  His laptop is shattered in the corner. 

 

Blood on the floor, and the wall.  On Jesse’s clothes. On the glass.

 

Gabriel’s hoodie is in Jesse’s bed, tucked in between the pillow and the sheets like he’s been sleeping with it.

 

Jack lays a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes.

 

“You’re good,” Jack says, and Gabriel closes his eyes, and breathes in slow.  Breathes out slow. 

 

Nods slow.

 

“I’m good.”

 

They move into the room, and start picking through the devastation.

 

-

 

Jesse’s roommate pulls up in the driveway as they’re loading his motorcycle into the bed of the truck they rented.  Riggs settles his own bike on its kickstand and reaches for the gun in his waistband before he thinks better of it. Leaves his hand there but doesn’t draw, palm snug on the grip of his weapon, watching Jack and Gabriel warily.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

 

It’s growled more than spoken.  Half his face is one big bruise, lip split and swollen.  He’s filthy— covered in dirt, clothes stained with blood.  Some of it is his own.

 

Some of it belongs to Jesse.  

 

“Friends of Jesse’s,” Jack says, stepping in front of Gabriel.   Whether he’s trying to protect Riggs from Gabriel, or the other way around, Gabe isn’t sure.   “We were talking with him last night when your boys kicked his door in. We’re the ones who called the ambulance.  We saw what you did for him, and we’re grateful.”

 

Riggs narrows his eyes at them, and spits on the ground.

 

“Ain’t my fuckin’ boys,” he says, glancing between Jack and Gabriel with a calculating expression.  “Not no more.”

 

“Glad to hear that,” Gabriel replies, and means it— he owes this guy more than he can repay.

 

He’s also tired, and impatient, and ready to lay eyes on Jesse.  He’s not in the mood to waste time shooting the shit with Jesse’s roommate, even if he risked his neck looking out for him.

 

Riggs glances at Jesse’s bike, then back at them.

 

“Ain’t too sure I should let you take Jesse’s girl.  Ain’t never heard Jesse say shit about you.”

 

Riggs is suspicious.  Gabriel doesn’t blame him.

 

“Ain’t too sure you can stop us,” Gabriel says, crossing his arms, but Jack holds up a hand to quiet him.  

 

Reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his wallet.

 

“We need to get to the hospital.  We don’t have time to argue, and we aren’t leaving Jesse’s things here, especially not his motorcycle.  How much is it worth like this? Ten grand? Maybe?” Jack is being generous, and Gabriel knows it, but he doesn’t argue.  Just watches him pull out a stack of bills, and hold them out towards Riggs in offering. “Take it for Jesse, if you don’t believe us.  And when Jesse tells you he’s got her back, then keep it for yourself. As thanks for what you did for Jesse, when we couldn’t step in to look out for him.”

 

Riggs glares for a little while longer, then tries to haggle them up to fifteen grand.  Gabriel both loves and hates him for it; he knows Riggs would give every last dollar to Jesse if it turned out they were bullshitting him.  

 

Knows they’d pay him twice that, and then some, for keeping Jesse safe.

 

For stepping in and taking the hits when they were too far away.

 

They get Riggs’ number, and a revolver from under Jesse’s floorboards that they didn’t know was there— wrapped in a grease stained dishtowel, silver and black with a skull on the grip.  It’s obviously a Deadlock weapon, but it’s beautiful, and Jesse would probably hate to lose it.

 

They take Jesse’s girl, and Jesse’s gun, and go.

 

-

 

Gabriel hates hospitals in general, but this one is especially awful.  It’s in the middle of the fucking desert. It reeks of disinfectant.

 

Jesse is in it, torn-up and wounded.

 

Jesse’s sleeping soundly in a recovery suite, oxygen looped around his nose, one eye black and swollen.  They’ve cleaned him up some, or in certain places, at least, but there’s still blood caked in his hair, and scabbed on his face.  His arm is bandaged. There are stitches in his cheek. Gauze on his side, and wrapped around his knuckles.

 

Bruises on his throat in the shape of someone’s fingers.

 

Gabriel closes his eyes.

 

_ Solomon Rivers, age thirty-five, four-six-two Saguaro Lane, license plate D93GA3, known enforcer of the Deadlock gang.  Victor Espinoza, age forty-one, one-five-one Cliffside Drive, license plate F84K3L. Jason Noxx, age fifty-two—  _

 

Jack’s hand on his neck, squeezing.

 

“You’re good,” he says.  Gabriel opens his eyes.

 

Jesse’s got a tube in his lungs.  There’s a plastic bag in one of the chairs with Jesse’s ruined jeans in it.  Jack’s old hoodie, covered in blood and cut apart.

 

Gabriel shakes his head.

 

Jesse almost died, and Gabriel is so far from good he wants to scream.

 

Jack pulls Gabriel into his arms.  Tucks Gabe’s face into his throat. Slides his fingers under Gabriel’s beanie and into his hair, scratching gently through the curls.

 

“It’s okay.  He’s gonna be okay.  We got him now, yeah?”

 

Gabriel fists his hands in the back of Jack’s jacket, and nods.  His eyes sting. His cheeks are wet, and he wipes them against the cotton of Jack’s shirt— breathes in shuddery, breathes out smooth.

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, we do.”

 

Jack holds him up for a while, and then they both sit down to wait, Jesse breathing deep and steady in his sleep.

 

-

 

It’s daylight when Jesse wakes up again, the room bright even with the blinds drawn.  His left arm is splinted and bound against his chest. There’s a pulling sensation on his side underneath it, like something is taped to his ribs.  A monitor of some sort is clipped to his finger, and there’s an IV fitted into the bend of his elbow. He can open both eyes now, at least, and the pain has eased back into almost nothing.

 

Whatever they gave him, it’s something  _ good,  _ because Jesse is loose and floating and made of liquid.

 

When he blinks to clear his vision, Jesse finds himself staring.

 

Jack and Gabriel are sitting next to his bed.  Gabriel is leaned back in what passes for a recliner in the hospital, mouth open as he snores.  

 

Jack is watching Jesse with bright blue eyes, a careful smile on his face.

 

“Hey there, cowboy.  How are you feeling? You hurting anywhere?”  

 

They look bigger in person than on Jesse’s laptop screen, dwarfing the hospital chairs underneath them.  Jesse feels a weird sense of vertigo, like he’s in an elevator that’s moving too fast.

 

“Holy shit.  You’re  _ here?” _

 

It isn’t really a question, but it sounds like one, the way his voice inches high and disbelieving at the end.  Jack nods, and his smile goes soft and fond. Something swoops low in Jesse’s stomach.

 

Jesse wants Jack to smile at him like that forever.

 

“Yeah, sweetheart.  We’re here.” Jack reaches out and smacks Gabriel in the arm.  “Gabe,” he says, but Gabriel just mumbles drowsily in response, rubbing a hand over his face in his sleep.  “Rise and shine,” Jack adds as he kicks him in the calf, and Gabriel startles awake, sitting up with a gasp.  

 

His eyes rove around unseeing for a moment before settling on Jesse, and then he’s leaning forward and grabbing at his hand.

 

_ “Jesse.”   _ Gabriel’s skin is warm on his own.  He squeezes Jesse’s fingers, and that swooping happens again, heat lighting up Jesse’s cheeks.  “How you feeling, baby? You hurt?”

 

It’s the same thing Jack asked before.  Jesse can’t believe they’re really sitting right in front of him.  Parked in a couple of uncomfortable hospital chairs, asking if he’s all right.  

 

Sweetheart.  Baby. 

 

Jesse grins.

 

“I feel great.  Say that again.”

 

Gabriel frowns.

 

“Your name?”

 

“Nnnn-nnnn,” Jesse hums, shaking his head.  “You called me baby.”

 

Gabriel smiles, and oh, _ no. _

 

Jesse can’t have them both looking at him like that.  His heart is beating faster, lit up on the monitor next to his bed for everyone to see.

 

“You hurting anywhere, baby?”

 

Jesse lets that wash over him, and shakes his head again.

 

“What’d they do to me?  ‘S my arm broken?” 

 

Gabriel isn’t smiling anymore.  He looks over to Jack, brows furrowed and jaw clenched, breathing deliberately even.  Jack sighs, but it’s tired more than anything else.

 

Jesse wonders how long he’s been sleeping.

 

“Your arm is broken, yes.  They’ll wait for the swelling to go down before they put a cast on, but you’ll probably be wearing one for six weeks or so.  You have a collapsed lung. They inserted a tube to drain the blood out. That’s what’s taped to your ribs—”

 

“No, don’t  _ touch it,”  _ Gabriel interrupts, holding tighter to Jesse’s right hand when he tries to move it, to feel where his ribs are covered in adhesive.

 

“It might take a few days to drain,” Jack continues, head tilted to the side.  “You  _ also  _ have a concussion, though you’ve been in and out a lot, so they aren’t too sure how severe it is yet.  They’ve got you on painkillers, but you need to let us know if you start hurting again, and they’ll get you something for it.”

 

Bruises and bloodstains.

 

His girl in pieces.

 

It hits Jesse all at once, the sudden realization of what happened cutting through the fog of drugs like a blade.

 

Jack and Gabriel had to watch Sol beat him half to death.  

 

Sol’s hand in his hair, mouth at his ear.

 

_ Makes a man wonder what you been up to, baby. _

 

Jesse closes his eyes, and swallows.  

 

“‘m sorry,” he says, even if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s apologizing for.

 

That they had to watch him get his ass kicked.  That they came all this way just to see him. 

 

That he’s been far more trouble than he’s worth, just like always.

 

“Sorry for  _ what?”  _  Gabriel asks, incredulous.  “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby.  None of this is your fault.”

 

They trashed his bike, and stole his shit.  Fucked up his arm. Collapsed his  _ lung.   _

 

Riggs’ hands on his face, voice frantic,  _ don’t do this to me, Jesse. _

 

If not for Riggs’ he’d be dead, choking on his own blood in the floor of his room, surrounded by dirty laundry and shards of glass.  

 

Jesse tugs his hand out of Gabriel’s to cover his face, breath hitching as he tries not to cry.  A tear tracks warm and wet down his cheek anyway, and he curls in on himself.

 

Of course the first time they see Jesse is like this, all black and blue and broken.

 

“Sorry,” he says again, and then the bed dips next to him, and Gabriel is there.

 

He wraps Jesse up as gently as he can, careful of all the wires and tubes and bandages, tucking Jesse’s face into his chest.

 

“Shhh, baby, no.  You’re not the one who needs to be sorry.  You just worry about getting better, okay? Me and Jackie’ll take care of everything else.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees his hat sitting on the bedside table, rumpled but intact.  Gabriel smells just like Jesse remembers, like the worn-soft fabric of his hoodie.

 

Jesse breathes him in; when he breathes out he’s shaking.  

 

Gabriel holds him, and doesn’t let go.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things, or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


	7. Remnant

Four days in the hospital feels like an eternity.  He’s been there before, more than he likes to think about, but always managed to bolt after he got mostly patched up.  If Jesse wasn’t bleeding out he didn’t need to be there, or so he always insisted, signing their AMA paperwork and shuffling out the door for a smoke before heading home to lick his wounds.  

 

This time is different.

 

This time Jesse feels fragile all over, like if he moves wrong he might shatter.

 

The first two days he spends high on painkillers, moods swinging wildly right along with his symptoms.  He sleeps almost constantly, which is frustrating, but being awake is worse. Even with plied with a rotating menu of opiates every few hours his head aches, each flash of light and loud noise making him wince.  

 

Jesse throws up without warning, confused about where he is sometimes, or how he got there.  Where’s Riggs, where’s his bike, isn’t he supposed to be at work?

 

His boss is gonna kill him.  The boys are gonna kill him. He’s gotta change the brake pads on someone’s bike before ten so they can make a pick-up east of the gorge by afternoon.  If they miss a drop because of him he’s gonna be eating his own teeth. Jesse sits up in bed, vision blurry as he looks for his clothes, tugging at his hospital gown with his brows furrowed.

 

Then everything comes back to him, and he starts crying for no good reason.  

 

It wouldn’t matter, except he’s never alone; Jack is there.

 

Jack is  _ always  _ there.

 

It’s embarrassing, but Jesse never protests when Jack sits down on the bed with him, holding him close.  Fingers in his hair, mouth on his temple,  _ it’s okay.   _

 

_ You’re okay. _

 

Jesse can’t help but lean into him, grateful to have someone to take some of his weight.  That restless need to run and hide somewhere rises, and flares, and fades away.

 

It’s manageable, with Jack there.  Jesse can swallow his pills, and hold out his arm for the nurse to take his blood pressure, and fight through the confusion to answer their questions.   _ Any dizziness?  Shortness of breath? _

 

_ How’s your pain, on a scale of one to ten? _

 

The agony in Jesse doesn’t fit on a scale of one to ten.  It’s buried under his skin, eating into him with every breath.

 

That isn’t what they mean, though; he lies at first and tells them it’s not that bad, hoping fewer pills might clear some of the fog in his head, but the look on Jack’s face is enough to guilt him into honesty.   _ Let them take care of you,  _ Jack says, but it doesn’t come easily for Jesse.

 

It takes a deliberate effort not to grit his teeth and white knuckle his way through it all.  Pain is a weakness that can be exploited. Exhaustion is a liability, Jesse has enough of those already; then Jack holds his hand,  _ go to sleep, sweetheart, you need rest,  _ and Jesse does his best to let go.

 

Jack is never gone for more than a few minutes, vanishing only to reappear with a cup of coffee or a tray of food from the cafeteria.  He snores in the chair next to Jesse’s bed, and brushes his teeth in Jesse’s bathroom, tapping away at his phone with a frown when he thinks Jesse is sleeping.  

 

Gabriel is there a lot, but he disappears for longer intervals that to go who knows where.  He apologizes when he leaves, cupping Jesse’s cheek and kissing his forehead,  _ I’ll be back soon, baby. _

 

_ I’ve got to tie up some loose ends. _

 

Jesse isn’t sure why Gabe’s concerned with what Jesse thinks.  They don’t owe him any of this; the company, or the comfort. The soft words, and softer kisses— on his head, on his cheek, on his knuckles.  The staggering amounts of money it’s costing them as he sits in bed and retches and cries, only to pass out again a few minutes later. He overheard Jack telling a nurse they’d be responsible for Jesse’s bill and he doesn’t even want to try and put a number to it in his head, even without considering all the past bills he’s racked up there and never looked at twice.

 

It makes him feel sick in a whole different way— makes him dizzy, makes his head throb.  Jesse can’t think of it without getting anxious. Jack and Gabriel aren’t fazed.

 

So Gabriel doesn’t need to tell Jesse he’s sorry for leaving, or ask if he needs anything, but he does it anyway, at least when he’s coherent.

 

Sometimes Gabriel leaves while Jesse is sleeping, and he wakes up to find him gone.

 

Wonders if he kisses him then, too; Gabriel’s mouth gentle on Jesse’s temple, both their eyes closed.

 

Jack just gives Gabriel a tight nod each time he takes off, grim resignation on his face.  It’s familiar ground they’re treading over, somehow.

 

Whatever business Gabriel is tending, it’s nothing new.

 

He comes back with a split lip, once, shrugging when Jesse asks what happened.

 

_ Had some trouble with the locals, but we sorted it out. _

 

Gabriel and Jack are good at sorting things out, it seems.  

 

Riggs comes by at some point.  It’s early in his stay at the hospital, and Jesse’s memory of it is hazy at best.  Jack and Gabriel both step out of the room, and Jesse assures Riggs that yes, it’s fine he let them take Jesse’s stuff, and no, he doesn’t want the money they gave him.  Riggs tells Jesse he’s leaving town, that even with Sol and the boys missing in action things aren’t safe for him.

 

Tells Jesse if he’s smart, he’ll leave town, too.

 

_ Call me when you get outta the hospital, let me know where you landed.  _

 

_ Get outta the gorge, Jesse, I’m begging you.   _

 

He takes Jesse’s hand.  Squeezes his fingers, eyes on fire like there is too much he wants to say and no way to say it.  Jesse wants to ask what he means by Sol going missing, but can’t get the words out with Riggs looking at him like that.  Wide eyed, and desperate, just this side of frantic.

 

Then he’s gone, and it’s too late; after a few moments Jack and Gabriel come back in and pretend they weren’t listening the whole time.  Jesse knows better.

 

By day four, Jesse is mostly himself again.  The headaches and nausea have passed. It’s almost a relief to have his arm in a cast instead of wrapped tight against his chest, dark red layers of fiberglass reaching down to his knuckles.  He can’t jostle it like this, can’t accidentally move wrong and send needles of pain stabbing through his wrist, and he can use his fingers again. All the blood has drained from his lungs, so they pull the tube out from between his ribs, and ease him off most of the painkillers.

 

The pain rolls in slow, but doesn’t rise as high as he expects.  It’s constant but not crippling.

 

Jesse’s dealt with worse.

 

They wrap his cast in plastic and let him take a shower, which only highlights that he hurts  _ everywhere.  _  Every little movement pulls something new, but the water feels good anyway, and he scrubs away as much of the filth as he can manage.  His face and ribs are still a riot of black and blue in the bathroom mirror afterwards, stitches black against his cheek. Jesse does his best not to look.

 

Not to think about Jack and Gabriel looking— seeing how broken he is, how wounded and pathetic.  The doctor gives him discharge instructions for the next day, tells him to take things slowly. No screens for at least another week, plenty of rest, no heavy cognitive loads.  

 

‘Sleep as much as you can and don’t think too hard’ would ordinarily be instructions Jesse could get behind, but he isn’t too sure he’s capable of that last part right now.

 

Especially not when Jack and Gabriel come into his room that afternoon after disappearing together for a few hours, sitting down and looking at him with unreadable expressions.  Both of them are quiet for awhile, glancing at each other, then at Jesse, then back again. It goes on long enough that Jesse starts to shift in place, nerves rattling through him until his headache threatens to come back in earnest.

 

“What’s the matter?” Jesse asks, afraid of the answer.  “Somethin’ else wrong with me?”

 

He wouldn’t put it past the doctors to tell Jack and Gabriel before they told him, not considering how off he’s been.  Jack is quick to shake his head, though, waving his hand dismissively.

 

“No, no.  Nothing like that, it’s just.”  Jack shares another look with Gabriel before continuing.  “They’re discharging you tomorrow. You’ll have to follow up with a neurologist, and an orthopedist will need to recheck your wrist before your cast can come off, but you can do that anywhere.  It doesn’t have to be here.”

 

There’s a heavy pause, like Jack is waiting for him to say something, but Jesse doesn’t know what.  His first instinct is to tell them they don’t need to worry about paying for it all, he’ll figure something out, but he knows that isn’t what Jack is getting at.  It’s probably a combination of vicodin, his concussion, and general exhaustion, but it takes Jesse longer than it should to realize where Jack is headed.

 

Discharge means Jesse goes home, except he doesn’t have one anymore.  

 

Before Sol broke his arm and punctured his lung and kicked his face in, Jesse had been planning on running.  The beginning of the conversation he had with Jack and Gabriel a few nights before is a little fuzzy, but he remembers them telling him to come to LA, that they wanted him there.

 

_ We’ll take care of you, whatever you need. _

 

Jesse wants to be able to take care of himself.  Had planned on going to LA with his own money— it’s money they gave him, but he earned it, in his own way.  It belonged to him.

 

Now his wallet is gone, bank account probably drained down to nothing, gift cards trashed or passed out to whichever of Sol’s boys got the most licks in while Jesse was on the floor clinging to consciousness.  

 

There was cash stashed in a few places around his room; Jack and Gabriel told him they got as much of his stuff as they could salvage, but they wouldn’t have found it, wouldn’t have known where to look.  Five hundred bucks shoved into the hole in his bedside lamp, a wad of twenties tucked into a broken wall outlet, a little over a grand in a mismatched pair of socks in the back of his closet.

 

Now he’s got nothing, and knowing Jack and Gabriel don’t mind footing the bill for him doesn’t entirely ease the sting.  He shouldn’t be surprised.

 

Deadlock always manages to take everything from him, one way or another.  Jesse wipes a hand over his mouth, and can’t meet their eyes.

 

“I ain’t got the money for my own place, now.  Not sure what’s left in the bank, after Sol and them took my shit.  I ain’t even got the keys to my girl anymore.”

 

He’s been trying not to think about it, trying not to let it overwhelm him— they way everything he’d worked for and built from nothing had been torn to pieces in a matter of minutes.

 

How easy it is for Jack and Gabriel to throw money around and fix things it would take Jesse years to recover from on his own.

 

They already bought him a new phone, and a new laptop, both of them disappearing when the doctor’s confirmed Jesse had a concussion.  They’re still around, somewhere, but Jack never mentions them and Jesse doesn’t want to ask.

 

His belongings are packed in boxes and trash bags, piled in Jack and Gabriel’s truck, his bike spread out in pieces in the back.  There’s a backpack full of clothes in one corner of the hospital room, all of them with the tags still on— a pair of jeans, socks and underwear and cotton t-shirts, some soft red flannel pajama pants.  Jesse’s boots, and a pair of sneakers.

 

There’s a bitterness lurking on the edges of his thoughts, pain and discomfort wearing Jesse down and making anger flare up where it isn’t deserved.  It’s not their fault Jesse has spent his whole life struggling, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground gained, and still has nothing to show for it.  They’ve been good to him. Better than good.

 

If not for them Jesse would be leaving the hospital in pair of scrubs without a dime to his name.  Except that’s not entirely true, Jesse realizes.

 

If not for them Jesse would be dead in his bedroom floor, spitting blood and broken teeth, no sirens on the way to send Sol running.

 

They’d wanted Jesse close, but that was before, and Jesse doesn’t know what they want now.

 

Doesn’t know what he wants, other than for everything to stop and let him breathe for once.  To not be so vividly, viciously alone.

 

Jack and Gabriel are trying to help, and Jesse would be a fool not to let them.

 

Gabriel looks furious, but Jesse’s pretty sure it’s not because of him, so he tries not to flinch at the expression.  Jack puts a hand on Gabriel’s thigh and squeezes.

 

“I reported your debit card stolen, got the bank to freeze your account pretty quickly after everything.  They spent a couple hundred bucks at a gas station before I could cut things off, but that’s about it. The rest of your money is still there.  Phone’s a lost cause but Gabriel ahh… found your keys, and your wallet, mostly intact.”

 

Jesse glances over at Gabriel with a frown.

 

“You  _ found  _ them?  Found them  _ where?” _   Jesse had watched one of Sol’s buddies pocket his keys and his wallet both.  Gabriel just shrugs, rubbing his tongue absently over the split in his lip.

 

“Must’ve dropped them without realizing.  Can’t say they’re overly observant.”

 

Jack sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

 

“The cash is all gone, but your cards and ID are still there, and-”

 

“Your fake ID,” Gabriel says, cutting him off.  Jack looks at him again, a particularly withering glare, and Gabriel holds both palms up in mock surrender.  “It’s fake, I’m just saying.”

 

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a drawn out breath before looking up again.

 

_ “My point is, _ they didn’t clean you out like you’re thinking they did, but even if they had you have to know by now that it doesn’t matter to us.  Before everything went to shit the other night you said you wanted to get out. I hate that this happened to you. I know we can’t just  _ fix  _ it, and I’m sorry the first time we met ended up being in a hospital room, but it doesn’t change anything.  We still want you out of here. Want you with us. When they discharge you tomorrow we’d to take you to LA, get you set up in your own place somewhere close to ours.  If you’ll let us.”

 

Jack looks so fucking earnest.  

 

Jesse has a lot of counter arguments.  He won’t be able to work for a while, not with his head still stuffed with cotton while he nurses a bottle of painkillers.  His arm will be out of commission for at least a month; Jesse can’t untie his fucking hospital gown, he certainly won’t be of any use near an engine.  He doesn’t have any work references that aren’t Deadlocks, can’t give any prospective employers a number to call.

 

Not unless he wants Sol showing up there to finish what he started.

 

He’s not good company, either— he feels like shit.  Looks like shit. Jesse is an expense with absolutely nothing to offer them, but he doesn’t say any of that.

 

He can already hear every one of Jack’s counter arguments.  Jesse can feel Gabriel winding up, ready to bulldoze through his uncertainty with sheer force of will.  

 

The fact that they give enough of a shit about him to put up a fight to have him close is proof enough for Jesse; nothing has changed for him.  He still wants to run, just like he wanted to run a few nights ago, wrapped in Jack’s hoodie and trying not to cry. There’s nothing for him here but an early grave.  Brass knuckles and bullet casings.

 

Sol’s fingers around his throat, one last time.

 

Jesse puts his fingers over the bruises there without thinking.  It’s impossible to miss the way Gabriel tenses, then catches himself, and deliberately relaxes again.  

 

Jesse nods, and swallows around the tightness in his throat.

 

“Yeah, alright.  Let’s go.”

 

He doesn’t have to force a smile.  Jack is visibly relieved, tension Jesse hadn’t even noticed bleeding out of him in a rush.  Gabriel grins, smug in a way that makes heat pool in Jesse’s stomach.

 

The smile comes on its own, small and tentative but painfully genuine as it spreads over Jesse’s face.

 

If Jack and Gabriel are foolish enough to want him, Jesse won’t argue the point.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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